


Twist

by Trent_In_A_Tree



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band), Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, BDSM, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, This is still based on one of my prompts from like a year ago, call 2 arms, someone said “college au” and it happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 14:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16369529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trent_In_A_Tree/pseuds/Trent_In_A_Tree
Summary: Trent Reznor expects a nice, fun senior year of college with his friends Robin, Stephen, and Tim. The unbeatable four musketeers. Nerd-sketeers; whatever— at least they have a good taste in music. He’s rooming with his best friend, Robin— an English major with a questionable fashion taste. Trent and his friend Stephen are both taking art history as a pass/fail class to fill their credits, and of course, Trent runs into a problem there, and the problem has a name— Brian Warner. He’s a trouble-making freshman majoring in Journalism, but minoring in giving Trent very conflictual feelings.





	Twist

**Author's Note:**

> we’re doin’ this like Rocky Horror.   
> Cast of (industrial) characters:
> 
> Our lovely leading ladies   
> Trent Reznor: anxious twink with a terrible attitude   
> Brian Warner: a troublesome prankster yet attractive dom with a bad taste in art and a fantastic taste in men
> 
> Supporting cast:   
> Robin Finck: Trent’s straight best friend, who somehow manages to come through in the fashion department at the last moment  
> Stephen Bier: reluctant rider of the romantic rollercoaster going on around him with an inexplicable interest in clowns  
> Tim Skold: the guy who chews celery to buffer your insulting commentary   
> Richard Kruspe: Brian’s gay best friend, and the worst/best wingman ever 
> 
> And introducing:  
> Till Lindemann: over-it art history professor who just wants his students to not cause severe problems 
> 
> this is my masterpiece. 20k words for my 20th fic, and it’s based on one of my old ass tumblr prompts so thanks to whoever sent it. 
> 
> thanks are at the end. you may see ur name!

“Robin,” Trent groaned annoyedly, pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder, “This shit is so fucking heavy.” 

Trent was standing in the center of the quad on the first day of his senior year. In his arms he held a large box, full of posters, books, his clock, his CD player, his computer, and a few jackets. Slung over his shoulders was a large, heavy backpack filled with clothes. 

“I’m changing the lightbulb right now, but I’ll come down and help you with your shit in a second,” Trent’s roommate, always calm, responded into the phone. 

“Thank god for you, Robin,” Trent said, taking a few shaky, awkward steps with his stuff, the phone still pressed against his ear. 

He’d schlepped it from the car and half way across the quad, but he’d run nearly completely out of steam. There was no way he could get it across the quad the rest of the way to the dorms without help. 

“Where exactly are you?” Robin asked, and Trent could hear him climbing down from the ladder he’d been on to fix the light. 

Trent felt a soft stab of jealously in his chest. He wished that he was physically stronger; he wished he could really get this stuff all the way himself. 

“I’m in the middle of the quad,” Trent said, swallowing his pride, and hefting the box that was slipping from his sweaty hands back against his chest. 

“I’ll be there in, like, 30 seconds,” Robin said, “See you.” 

Before Trent could offer another pathetic thank you, Robin hung up. Sighing, Trent leaned down to place the box on the ground, his phone still lodged between his ear and shoulder. His muscles hurting and cramping, he took his phone in his hand, clicked it off, and slipped it into the pocket of his loose jeans. Trent brushed some wayward strands of black hair out of his face, then grasped the straps of his backpack to rid some of the weight from his back. He really needed to start working out. Trent tapped his foot impatiently, eyeing the students flowing through the quad. Many people carried their own things, but a lot of the freshmen had clearly arrived with their parents. Trent grimaced at the thought. He’d grown up with his grandmother and she would have been no help with luggage. He’d solved the problem by bringing nearly nothing the first year. 

He was jolted out of his quickly darkening thoughts at the sight of Robin, who was always recognizable, even in the largest crowd. His messy, reddish-brown hair was pulled up into a ratty ponytail. His tall stature made him clearly stand out from everyone around him. Trent saluted Robin jokingly, and his roommate smirked at him, speeding up his searching gait to a jog. 

“Hey, Trent!” Robin cried out, running towards his friend and pulling him close into a hug, his hands landing awkwardly on Trent’s backpack. 

Trent was genuinely happy to see his friend, and his heart swelled with some kind of strange happiness that contrasted intensely with the direction his thoughts have threatened before. 

“I’m happy to see you, dude,” Trent smiled at Robin when he pulled back, pushing his chest with a hand. 

“I’m happy to see you too!” Robin responded to Trent’s gesture with a punch delivered to Trent’s upper arm. 

Trent opened his mouth to justify why he needed help with the box- he was tired, he... but Robin made no comment, instead sweeping the box up into his arms. 

“I’m so happy to room with you this year,” Trent grinned at Robin, “Last year, I roomed with Chris, but when our friendship went by the wayside, it became kind of awkward.” 

“I’m glad he transferred schools. Not because I don’t like him, but because you two fighting all the time really fucked up the friend group dynamic,” Robin sighed, then added, “But enough about that— I’m really glad I’m rooming with you too.” 

Trent smiled at Robin, relieved that his friend obviously didn’t want to discuss the previous falling out. It made Trent incredibly anxious to think about losing friends. They made their way up the quad together, close enough to be comfortable in silence. The two walked down the path through the small gathering of trees at the edge of the quad, simply one of the many forested areas in the school, then stepped out of the thinning gathering to the large, Romanesque dormitory building. Trent had always thought the dorm buildings were quite beautiful, and it was admittedly something he’d miss upon graduation. 

“I’ll get the door,” Trent spoke, pressing a hand flatly to the glass surface, pushing the door open. 

He stood aside to let Robin through. 

“Thanks,” Robin said, and Trent replied with a nod as the two of them walked towards the elevator. 

“Can you believe that we’re on the second floor this year?” Robin laughed, “I was on the fifth floor in my first year, and now look what happened.” 

“At least the room is nice and you got to choose your roommate,” Trent shrugged. 

“We’ve still been fucking demoted, Reznor.” 

“Okay, true, we have been,” Trent conceded, “We should get top privileges; we’ve put up with all the school’s shit the longest.”

The two men got out on floor two, which had taken only several seconds to arrive on. Their dorm was number 216, which was good because it wasn’t ridiculously close or ridiculously far from the elevator. 

“I left the door unlocked,” Robin said, nodding his head to it as they arrived in front. 

Trent pulled the door open, walking through, and plopped his backpack down in the center of the room. Robin did the same with the box and stood up, sighing, to wipe his forehead. He then shut the door behind them and groaned a little, flexing out the crick in his neck. Trent brought his arms up behind his head, cracking his back satisfyingly. 

“That was a workout, man,” Trent sighed. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Robin raised an eyebrow unbeknownst to Trent, who was looking around the small room. 

“Okay, maybe I’m just fucking weak then,” Trent said, eyeing the hot plate, then the beds, then the table in between them. 

“You’re good, don’t sweat it,” Robin grinned, slapping Trent on the back, “You’re a computer science major, there’s no need for you to be buff.” 

“Yeah,” Trent snorted, “And you’re an English major. Yet you’re still stronger than me.” 

“I have to be buff to fight off the criticisms my professors give me all the fucking time,” Robin said, and Trent laughed. 

“Okay, valid,” Trent responded, unzipping his backpack, “is it okay with you if I just unpack now so I don’t have to do it after the orientation meeting?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine with me,” Robin said, then added, “Since I already unpacked all my shit for the same reason.” 

“Do you want to keep one side of the closet to yourself, or do you not care?” Trent inquired. 

“You know I don’t give a shit,” Robin grinned, “I’m like a foot taller than you; I know which clothes are mine.”

“Stop fucking attacking me,” Trent joked, leaning over his backpack to grab it and put it on top of the couch. 

“I’m not, it’s literally true,” Robin rolled his eyes. 

“Dick,” Trent jokingly spat, pulling T-shirts out of his bag by the dozen and chucking them onto the couch. 

He pulled out several pairs of pants, too, leaving socks and underwear in the bottom. Then, he picked up the shirts under one arm and pulled open the closet. He was relieved to find that there were many extra hangers already there. 

“Thank me for the hangers,” Robin spoke as if reading Trent’s mind, “Since there weren’t any when I got here, I went out and bought a bunch in bulk from the store.” 

“Thank you, overlord,” Trent said sarcastically, genuinely glad that Robin had picked up the hangers. 

Robin let out a laugh and plopped down on the bed as Trent hung his shirts. 

“Don’t wear your shoes on the bed, that’s disgusting,” Trent said, not even turning around, picking up his pants now that he’d finished hanging his shirts. 

The sound of a groan and then the bed shifting under Robin as he got up echoed in Trent’s ears, then the other man untied his shoes and threw them off between the beds. Not wanting to witness the (albeit ironic) shit fit, Trent continued what he was doing. He took out all his underwear and socks and opened the top right drawer in the chest of drawers. He saw Robin’s socks and underclothes in it, and immediately shut it, opening the drawer below it to Robin’s computer and English books. Sighing in annoyance, Trent moved to the other side of the dresser that had clearly been allotted for his belongings. He put his underwear and socks in it, then shut it. He folded his two nice suit jackets and put them in the bottom drawer on top of one another, putting his computer and CD player to the side of that. Eying the books and posters still in the box, he figured he’d deal with that later. He was tired. 

Trent kicked off his loosely tied army boots, throwing them from his feet next to Robin’s shoes, then sitting down next to the other man’s lying body. 

“Hey,” Robin said, angling his head to peek up at Trent. 

“Hiya,” Trent responded, “Excited for the new freshman at orientation?” 

“Oh yeah,” Robin said saracastically, “I love the fresh meat.”

Trent laughed softly, then looked at the clock on the wall, “Shit.”

“What?” Robin asked. 

“We have 45 minutes to get ready and get down to orientation,” Trent sighed, “I haven’t even showered. 

“I’m ready, I’m just gonna let my hair down and wear a suit jacket,” Robin gestured at his fitted black T-shirt, “This seems appropriate.” 

“It’s pushing it, but it’s fine, I guess,” Trent said. 

“Some of us are heterosexual and don’t care about this kind of thing, Reznor,” Robin said jokingly. 

“It’s not because I like dick, it’s because I like looking good. And I’m not even full gay, anyway, dumbass,” Trent rolled his eyes, then smiled a little, “I’m gonna shower.”

“Have a nice shower. I’m going to put on my suit jacket. And that’s it. Nothing extra,” Robin said very intentionally, and Trent scoffed under his breath. 

Sighing, Trent walked into the bathroom, happy to see that there were already towels in there. The school seemed to be capable of pulling through for the students in some ways. Trent shed his T-shirt and jeans quickly, then stepped out of his underwear which he left atop the rest of the pile. He opened the shower door, turned it up to mid-heat, then shut the door quickly again so cold water wouldn’t splash out on him. He hated when that happened; it annoyed him deeply.   
—  
Several minutes later, Trent exited the bathroom, wrapped in one of the fluffy, white towels. His wet hair was wrapped in another towel that was around his head like some sort of odd turban. Robin restrained a laugh, which Trent pointedly ignored, as he reached into the closet to grab a green button-up shirt and some fitted black jeans. He threw the clothes onto his bed, then opened his side of the drawers and pulled out his underwear, which he continued to hold in his hand. Trent plopped down on the bed and undid the towel around his torso, quickly pulling on the boxers. 

“I’m wearing jeans, to match with your stupid ass,” Trent said jokingly, standing up and beginning to struggle into the tight black pants. 

“You’re such a fucking dick,” Robin laughed, watching Trent’s fingers tighten on the the waistband of the pants as he yanked them past his hips aggressively. 

“No, you,” Trent grunted out in response, zipping his pants up finally. 

He picked up the button-up from his bed and lazily unbuttoned the top two buttons, then threw it over his head. Then he walked over to the chest of drawers again and opened it. For a second, Trent considered inquiring whether he should wear the black jacket or the striped one, but then decided Robin would be no help. He pulled out the black-and-white striped suit jacket and threw it on. 

“At least we both are wearing suit jackets,” Robin said in a placating manner, and Trent rolled his eyes again in reply. 

Trent pulled on his boots, then tightened the left’s laces in one pull, tying it immediately afterwards. He repeated the same process on the right shoe, stood, brushed his pants off with his hands, and looked pointedly at Robin, “Let’s go.” 

“Yeah, we are,” Robin laughed, getting up. 

The two men headed out of the room together.   
—  
“Do we really need to go a stupid orientation?” Richard whined, and Brian put his head down on the dashboard of the car, absolutely sick of German-accented bitching. 

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Brian murmured. 

“I am not annoying!” Richard’s voice went high and indignant in a very annoying manner. 

“Listen, Richard, we didn’t drive up here to be here on time for this stupid orientation for you to refuse to go,” Brian sighed, lifting his head up, “I’ve had to push the car, like, six times.”

“Okay,” Richard huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Richard was wearing eyeliner and some kind of horrible collar that he’d picked up in a sex shop at some point. His dark hair was spiked around his head like some kind of pointy animal. He was wearing immaculate white nail polish accompanied by a fitted white tank top and black jeans. He looked like the perfect art student, which was fitting, since he was. 

“Hey Brian,” Richard said, leaning down to rustle around in the glove compartment to pull out his Juul, which he held out to Brian as an offer, “Thanks for signing up for art history with me.” 

“You’re welcome, Reesh,” Brian took the Juul willingly, and inhaled roughly out of it, slowly exhaling his hit, then passing the pen back to his friend. “Sorry I called you annoying.” 

“It’s fine,” Richard reached out and took the taller man’s hand in his, squeezing it roughly with a smile on his face. 

When Brian had first met Richard, he’d been taken aback by his touches and affectionate gestures. He’d never been sure whether it was because Richard was German, or because he missed his ex, or because he was gay, or because he was just Richard. It was most likely to be the last one, but whatever it was, Brian was totally okay with it by this point. 

Richard was taking hit after hit, now, filling up the entire car with vapor. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, can we open the windows?” Brian coughed, rolling down his window quickly to stick his head out to get a fresh breath. 

“Du bist schwach!” Richard called out at Brian, rolling down his own window despite his joking insult. 

“You know I don’t speak bratwurst,” Brian replied, and Richard rolled his eyes, leaning forward to Brian, putting his well manicured hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

“It means, ‘you are WEAK!’” Richard whispered in Brian’s ear, for some reason causing Brian to crack up. 

“At least I don’t vape all the time like you. Fucking edgelord,” Brian pushed up the cuff of his shirt to look at the watch on his wrist. 

“What time is it?” Richard inquired. 

“It’s 5 minutes ‘til we’ve got to be in there,” Brian replied, pulling the keys out of the ignition and shutting off the radio. 

“Shit,” Richard clenched his fists, inhaling deeply, then standing up as he opened the car door, stepping outside of it. 

Brian took one look at the car and decided to leave the windows open to air out Richard’s vapor. He saw that Richard was staring up at the building with apprehension. Sometimes, in Richard’s boldness, Brian forgot momentarily that the other man had only recently moved to a new country and been completely uprooted. Sometimes, Richard’s façade shook a little bit. 

“Hey, Richard,” Brian said, and Richard turned to look at him, confidence back in his eyes. 

Brian wordlessly opened his arms and looked at Richard expectantly. Sighing and trudging over as if it were a burden, Richard leaned against Brian’s chest, pressing his cheek to the fabric of Brian’s black button-up. Brian wrapped his arms tightly around Richard’s back, hugging him close. 

“It’s gonna be fine, Reesh. Don’t worry about it,” Brian smiled, and Richard pushed away after a few seconds, a poorly disguised smile on his face. 

“I know it’s gonna be fine, Frau Warner. No need to mother me,” Richard said, beginning to step towards the main lecture hall. 

Brian ignored the jest, and smiled to himself, taking a few long steps to catch up with his much flashier friend.   
—  
At one point during the speeches to open the school year, Trent dozed off on Robin’s shoulder. His friend had to subtly nudge him awake. Trent was bored and exhausted, but was relieved when he looked at the pamphlet in his hand and saw that they’d be free to drink and eat as much as they liked in just a few minutes. He completely zoned out the rest of the speech, figuring it was pretty much useless. He honestly just wanted to find Stephen and Tim to say hi, and then he wanted to go back to his damn dorm and sleep. 

“Trent, it’s over,” Robin sighed, poking Trent in the arm. 

“Thank fucking God!” Trent hissed, and the two men stood up almost simultaneously as people in the row around them did the same. 

Everyone in the vicinity was mumbling and cracking their joints, and it took a few seconds for the people in the row to finally file out and free Robin and Trent. The two friends walked wordlessly towards the buffet, too sick of everyone to find anyhing appropriate for public consumption to talk about. 

“Hey! Hey!” Came a very familiar sudden voice, and suddenly arms were around Trent and Robin in a sloppy, violent group hug. 

“Stephen! Hi!” Trent said, patting his friend roughly on the back. 

“Hey guys!” Steven responded. 

“Hey, don’t leave me out,” Came a quiet, accented voice in a joking, indignant tone. 

“Tim!” Trent said excitedly, and grabbed Tim’s hand in his, initiating their handshake. 

“Good to see you, dude,” Tim grinned, then turned to Robin to first bump him. 

“Hi, Tim,” Robin said happily. 

“Can you believe that this is our last year of this?” Stephen asked.   
—  
“Can you believe that this is our first year out of our parents’ houses?” Brian asked Richard. 

Richard said nothing in response; he was busy shoving olives into his mouth. 

“Mmph wff,” Richard said, and it was Brian’s turn to roll his eyes this time. 

“That wasn’t even German; that was just fucking incoherent,” Brian sighed. 

Richard chewed a bit and corrected himself, “It’s new.” 

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Brian raised an eyebrow. 

“Before we came here, I thought I’d try to give less handjobs, but now that I’m here, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Richard shrugged, putting down his now olive-free plate. 

“You could give blowjobs instead,” Brian said. 

“I bet you money I’ll blow every guy on the football team.” 

“You’ve been watching too much porn. Those guys are all straight,” Brian smirked, taking a bite from one of the small sandwiches on his plate. 

“That will change when they see me, Brian. I’m German. I’m exotic. I’m sexy,” Richard said this completely sincerely and Brian burst into laughter. 

“You also just ate over 20 olives,” he pointed out and Richard rolled his eyes. 

“You ruin everything,” Richard said, leaning over to get more olives. 

“I know,” Brian grinned.  
—  
“Hey, Trent, it looks like we have art history together,” Stephen grinned. 

“Oh, we do?” Trent asked, furrowing his brow, “Why are you taking art history?” 

“I honestly feel like it’s incredibly weird to do the work we do— with computers and the like— and not have knowledge of art history. How are we supposed to understand graphic design trends?” Stephen said. 

Trent nearly kicked himself for having no reason anywhere near that developed for wanting to take the class. 

“That’s so cool,” Trent grinned at his friend. 

“Why are you taking it?” Stephen inquired in response. 

“I needed an extra class and I decided to take it pass/fail because it looked interesting. Sorry that’s not very intellectual,” Trent said awkwardly. 

“No, it’s fine. At least we’re in that class together!” Stephen patted Trent’s shoulder roughly. 

“Isn’t it the first class in the morning?” Trent inquired. 

“Yeah, it’s 7am tomorrow. That’s just way too early,” Stephen pressed his lips together in vague annoyance. 

“At least it’s our last year,” Trent pointed out. 

“Yeah. That’s true. So it shouldn’t be so hard,” Stephen nodded. 

“We’ve got all our friends, we’re more used to dealing with our classes, what could go wrong?” Trent smiled happily.   
—  
Across the room, unbeknownst to Trent and his friends, a small crowd of cheering people had gathered to watch Brian throw olives into Richard’s mouth. Every time Richard caught one (which was, impressively most times), people let out a loud whoop. The plate of olives was almost empty, and Brian stood with another handful of olives, throwing them quickly as Richard snapped them out of the air like some sort of weird sea creature. 

“Orientation must really be boring if you guys are watching this,” Brian said, receiving a few laughs in reply. 

“Throw two!” Someone shouted, and Brian obeyed, launching two olives at a slightly horrified Richard who somehow managed to snap them both out of the air. 

The small audience erupted in cheering. 

Brian threw olive after olive, until they were all gone. Olive juice dripped from his fingers which was quite disgusting. The crowd began to dissipate but not before the people in it had patted both Richard and him on the back, thanking them for spicing up orientation. Once people had truly melted back into the crowd, Brian picked up a paper towel to wipe olive juice off of his hand. 

“I feel really disgustingly full,” Richard groaned. 

“You started this. You must have eaten, what, a hundred of those things?” Brian laughed. 

Richard clenched his eyes shut in pain, “Agh, nein!” 

“Well, you did!” Brian said indignantly. 

“No, I’m perfectly aware of that,” Richard groaned, “I can already feel my body being punished and I know it’s about to get much worse.” 

“We have class at 7 am tomorrow, too,” Brian pointed out, and Richard groaned in displeasure. 

“This sucks! I’m gonna be up all night,” Richard groaned. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get some sleep,” Brian said, comfortingly, not believing it whatsoever.   
—  
The next morning, Trent awoke bright and early to the sound of his phone alarm. He’d had the courtesy to use that as opposed to the clock, so Robin could sleep longer, since his first class was at 8. Groaning softly, Trent got up to get ready to go. He trudged to the bathroom and quietly clicked the door shut behind him. Then he washed his face quickly, then his armpits. He put on his sunscreen and deodorant, and quickly combed through his dark, messy hair until it looked presentable. He looked tired, but at least he smelled good. That was the most important part. 

He walked out of the bathroom to pull a Cure T-shirt out of the closet, as well as pair of jeans. He walked over to the drawers, getting his socks and boxers, then plopped down on the bed to change into the clothes. Trent tossed his dirty boxers through the open door of the bathroom, pleased to see them landing on the dirty laundry pile that he and Robin had started. He stood up, pulled on his boots, and laced them again, then sighed. It was too early for this shit.   
—  
When Trent walked out into the quad, computer and notebook under his arm, the air was cold and crisp. It was overcast; the ground was lit in what looked like streaks of grey, though the sun was out. It was early enough in the morning for the concrete ground to still be streaked with water, but not so early that the air still felt wet. Trent wished he’d worn a jacket, and he sped up the pace of his walking, hoping the classroom would be heated. His eyes were fixed on he edge of the little, cultivated forest, knowing he had to walk through their to the left to reach the art building. 

Finally, Trent burst through the arching trees, walking quickly over light speckled ground. Out of habit, he looked at his watch, despite knowing he’d be perfectly on time. He was nearing the end of the forested path, now. He could see the art building in front of him, and was deeply relieved to soon be inside. Trent pushed the large, faux granite door open, then made his way down the left side of the hall. He pushed open the door of the lecture hall, peeking in to make sure it was the right room. 

The room hadn’t completely filled yet, considering he was around 10 minutes early, but his eyes fixated on Stephen, who had noticed him and was waving at him. Anxiety he didn’t even realize had been building in his chest dissipated at the sight of his friend. Trent saluted playfully at the other man, then made his way up past the rows of kids who were clearly mostly art students, until he made it to the middle where Stephen had decided to sit. He walked into the row, sitting down next to the other man. 

“Hi,” Trent said, offering a tired smile as he sat down. 

“Hey,” Stephen responded, clearly hyped as usual, tapping his fingers on the table. 

“I’m kind of excited for this class,” Trent said, and Stephen nodded. 

“I am too, it’s weird. If someone had told me, when I was like, fifteen, that I would be excited for art history class, I’d be disgusted,” Stephen said, then let out a little laugh. 

“I was really pretentious as a teenager and I really liked to watch surrealist films and stuff, so fifteen year old Trent would mostly just be disappointed that I didn’t become a musician,” Trent laughed. 

“Wait, you wanted to be a musician?” Stephen inquired, and Trent heard the sound of people sitting down behind them. 

“Kind of— well, I mean, yeah, but it was really a pipe dream. I’m not bad at music but it really stresses me out, I’d probably just break my instruments on stage and cry and call it performance art,” Trent laughed. 

“You’re so calm, I can’t picture that at all,” Stephen said completely sarcastically. 

Trent punched his friend in the arm playfully with laughter, “Don’t bully me!” 

“It’s true and you know it,” Stephen laughed in reply. 

“Maybe so,” Trent crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows jokingly. 

The room was almost completely full of people now, so Trent looked at his watch again. It was two minutes until the start of class. He looked down at the front of their classroom to see the professor taking out his pile of notes for his lecture to put it on the stand. 

Unbeknownst to Trent, there was quite a kerfuffle going on behind him. 

“Absolutely look at him!” Richard whispered, albeit very loudly, in Brian’s ear, gesticulating violently at the professor. 

“Shut up, Reesh, you’re being loud enough to be heard, like, from Germany,” Brian hissed, pinching the skin of his friend’s forearm. 

“Brian,” Richard rolled his eyes, flipping open his notebook, pointing to something on the class schedule he’d printed for himself.

Brian leaned down to see the small text: “Art History, Professor: T. Lindemann.” 

“I don’t get it,” Brian said, 

“Lindemann. He’s German,” Richard said, excitedly. 

“Shut up, he’s probably American,” Brian rolled his eyes. 

“No, he’s probably German,” Richard looked dangerously close to pouting. 

“Hi, class,” came a deep, accented voice from the front of the class, and everyone stopped shifting around. 

“Okay, you’re right, he’s German,” Brian whispered. 

“Ha! Told you! Idiot,” Richard said, then leaned forward on the desk to stare at Professor Lindemann. 

Brian internalized a groan; Richard could be so annoying. Sometimes, he felt like his best friend was just a twelve year old girl in the body of an adult man. 

Meanwhile, Trent and Stephen were quietly opening their notebooks, Trent pulling out a mechanical pencil. 

“You should probably write this down,” Professor Lindemann was saying, “This class is kind of funky this year, so we’re going to have some periods that are one hour lectures, and some that are two hours. It’s because the student Leadership Initiative meets here every other day, and that basically cuts into our class time.” 

“That’s gay,” Stephen whispered, and Trent restrained a snort. 

“I’ve decided to deal with this by making every lecture an hour, so on some days I’ll basically do two connected lectures, and others I’ll do one. I just wanted to let the class know that, so you could figure out how to organize your notes,” Lindemann paused, then continued, “We’re going to be covering all of the important art movements in surface level detail, since this is an introductory art history class. If you don’t like learning about classical art, and this class isn’t compulsory, then I suggest you leave. Every year I have students that complain about learning about classical art.” 

Trent began a half formed thought about how he hated people who complained about classical art— especially people who complained about the Renaissance, when he heard the mumbled voice of someone behind him say, “Ugh, I fucking hate classical art.” 

“Classical art is important,” whispered another voice behind him, indignantly. 

The second voice had some sort of European accent— similar to Lindemann’s— maybe German? 

“No, it’s all so pretentious,” responded the other, clearly American, voice. 

Stephen was clearly not paying attention to the conversation behind them whatsoever. Instead, he was opening his notebook to begin taking notes as Lindemann began to talk about the background of art history. He was saying something about the manner in which certain movements became important in their aftermath; pointing out that one cannot know which art movements will be the most important in the long term during the time when he lives. Trent knew he should be writing this down, and he figured this wasn’t a good way to start his first day of school, so he quickly flipped his notebook open, beginning to take notes on what Lindemann was talking about. 

Several minutes passed, and Trent had almost stopped thinking about the audacious stupidity of the guy behind him. 

“In every movement, of course, there are important figures,” Lindemann said, pausing to push his glasses up his nose, then continuing, “For example, the Renaissance had Da Vinci, Botticelli... the surrealists had Breton and Dalí, Duchamp...”

“Duchamp was such a hack,” whispered the guy behind Trent who had made the comment about classical art earlier. 

Before his German-accented friend who seemed to have more than two brain cells jittering around in his head could say anything, Trent turned around on impulse to reply, which was something he rarely did, but something about this particular situation annoyed him. For all he knew, this absolute idiot could be an art major. 

“Are you fucking retarded, or something?” Trent hissed upon turning around. 

Trent instantly realized the guy he was insulting was incredibly striking looking, which annoyed him even more, because of his incredible ignorance. He had straight black hair that hung to his shoulders, with a little bit of a chin length fringe, a strong brow and nose, and big, dark expressive eyes, like a silent film actor. He was skinny and square shouldered, and wearing a large, baggy red T-shirt. 

In a split second, Stephen looked up from his notes. Simultaneously, the young man’s attractive face twisted into a smirk. His German accented friend, who had spiky hair like a hedgehog and an unreasonable amount of makeup on for a straight male at 7am, covered his mouth to restrain snorting laughter. 

Stephen rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the whole situation, and looked back at his notes. There was no way he was going to argue about art. 

“No,” hissed the young man under his breath, “I’m just not a suck up to all the supposedly ‘great’ artists like everyone else.” 

“It’s not sucking up to appreciate how their work lead to the art we have now,” Trent said pissily, his voice a little louder than a whisper. 

“Yeah, but you don’t have to like them, you know,” The German hedgehog argued, leaning forward on his desk. 

“I didn’t fucking say that, I said that your friend right here is an idiot,” Trent said, pointing his finger into the stick-like man’s chest, while giving his hedgehog-friend a dirty look. 

“I’m not fucking stupid,” the black haired man said, his voice level normal now. 

A couple of people in their area looked at them and Trent ignored them. This guy really riled him up for some reason, despite the fact that he almost never got into it with people he didn’t know, and would have never argued with someone about art. Trent stood up in his seat. 

“Listen, just because you’re fucking uneducated doesn’t mean you should just sit around spouting stupid bullshit. You’re here to learn about art, and you clearly need to fucking learn about it,” Trent snapped at regular voice level, and a few more people looked over. 

“You’re such a fucking dick,” the dark haired man said nastily, shoving Trent a little. 

“Hey,” Stephen said, immediately standing up in his seat, clambering over the divide of the seats, now distracting the class completely, shoving the dark haired man roughly, “don’t fucking touch him, Brian.” 

Brian’s eyes widened with recognition, just as Stephen tackled him back into the row of seats behind him. 

“Hey!” Lindemann shouted from the front of the classroom, just as Stephen climbed off Brian, and Trent dove at him angrily while he was still on the ground, not stopping to wonder how Stephen knew him. 

“You’re such a pretentious fuck!” Trent snapped, slapping the other man across the face, pulling his hand back in a fist, and then Brian was laughing. 

He grabbed Trent’s wrists, rolling them over off the seats and onto the ground, pinning Trent easily under him. 

“Get the fuck off me!” Trent said indignantly, rolling around, trying to escape from the other man’s grasp. 

“What the fuck are you doing!” Came Lindemann’s strict voice from directly behind them, and both Trent and Brian froze. 

The Richard blushed a deep red, and Stephen clapped a hand over his own mouth, because he had literally never heard a professor curse before under any circumstances. Both Trent and Brian got up quickly, brushing their clothes off, immediately looking sheepish. 

“There will be no fighting in my fucking class. You are adults,” Lindemann stepped forward, his eyes blazing with anger as he looked down on Trent and Brian, his glance flickering to Richard and Stephen, who stood awkwardly in the back. 

“S-sorry,” Trent mumbled. 

Brian’s mouth had narrowed into a white slash in his face, and he nodded stiffly next to Trent. 

“I am not going to settle your debates like you are children,” Lindemann said threateningly, pushing his finger into Brian’s chest as Trent had earlier, though it was much more threatening coming from the six foot professor than it was from Trent, “I am going to expect you to sit back down in your seats right now, and if any of you four lay a finger on each other ever again, you will instantly be out of this class. I should throw you out now, but I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Professor,” Trent mumbled. 

“Yes,” Brian added annoyedly, “Professor.” 

Lindemann’s eyes raised to Richard and and Stephen. 

“Yes, Professor,” Stephen said. 

“Ja, Herr—“ began Richard, then embarrassedly corrected himself, flustered, “Yes, Professor.” 

Lindemann cocked an eyebrow at Richard, like he was restraining a smile, then looked sternly at the group, “You are adults. No more disrupting my class.” 

With that, he walked away. The rest of the students watched in silent shock with bated breath as Trent and Brian shot each other glares, Stephen looked at Brian angrily, and Richard looked at the group awkwardly. Trent and Stephen climbed back into their row of chairs and sat down. The rest of the class was relatively uneventful, even though Trent was absolutely fuming. He still managed to take notes, though. When class ended, Lindemann shot him a dirty looked as he walked out the door with Stephen. 

“What the fuck was that?” Stephen asked loudly, after they’d left the class. 

“I don’t know. He just kept saying dumb shit,” Trent mumbled.

After the time had passed, Trent was ridiculously embarrassed about the way he’d behaved. He was almost done with college, he was almost out in the world, and he still couldn’t control himself. 

“I know that kid from high school, you know,” Stephen said. 

“What?” Trent inquired. 

“He was a freshman when I was a senior. He got in trouble all the time. Really smart kid though,” Stephen said. 

“Are you saying you knew who he was, literally because you saw him get in trouble?” Trent inquired. 

“Uh, basically. I saw him getting dragged around by the principal all the time, but once when I went to his office, Brian was in there too. I was there because I punched a kid, Brian was there because he superglued all of the chemistry teacher’s supplies to the table, then insisted that they were just ‘like that.’” Stephen rolled his eyes in remembrance. 

“Are you... are you serious?” Trent asked. 

“Yeah. He didn’t get away with it though. I talked to him while we were waiting in the office— he said he wanted to be a journalist, I wonder if he is a journalism major,” Stephen said. 

“I wonder if he’ll ever stop being a douche and a retard,” Trent snapped back. 

“Probably never,” Stephen said, and Trent laughed. 

“Well, I certainly hope Lindemann doesn’t hold it against me long term,” Trent’s brow furrowed. 

“I’m sure he won’t. It’s just weird first day shit,” Stephen shrugged. 

“Yeah,” Trent said, then asked, “You wanna go to lunch with the group today?” 

“Of course,” Stephen said. 

“Cool, I suppose we’ll just meet in the usual spot after classes then?” 

“Yeah. See you.”

Trent gave Stephen a nod as the other man walked away. He sighed, wishing his first class had been much less eventful, and then made his way down the hall to his next class.   
—  
“Hey, Trent!” Stephen said, and Trent froze mid-bite in his sandwich. 

“What?” He said, sandwich bits clogging up his sentence. 

“Care to tell the group about the art history class incident?!” Stephen grinned, leaning over. 

They were in the cafeteria that was connected to the school. The room was white and sterile, bustling with other students at all times, which meant it was a good place to have private conversations, because nobody could hear you. Unfortunately, this had resulted in Tim, Stephen, and Robin interrogating the shit out of Trent for the last 3 years. Apparently, Trent was the most disaster prone. It wasn’t on purpose, but it was how it went. 

“I really would rather not,” Trent replied smoothly, swallowing his bite of sandwich. 

“Well,” Stephen replied, “You’re going to.”

“What happened?” Tim asked, intrigued, and Robin silently leaned forward on his elbows to affirm the effort to interrogate. 

“You guys suck!” Trent rolled his eyes, “Fine, I’ll tell you!” 

“Good,” Robin said, and Tim laughed. 

“This absolute dick in art class started saying the stupidest, most pretentious shit, so I insulted him,” Trent spoke. 

“Then he got into a fist fight with him,” Stephen added. 

“Oh, like you helped avert it,” Trent said, deeply sarcastic, “But I was the one who ended up pinned down.” 

“What?!” Tim asked through a laugh. 

“He pinned me the fuck down! And he’d have been attractive if his views weren’t so stupid!” Trent snapped, “He’s such a dick.” 

“Attractive? Brian Warner!” Stephen snorted out a laugh. 

“Wait, you know the guy?” Robin inquired. 

“Yeah, I went to high school with him. He’s kind of a prankster-douchebag,” Stephen replied. 

“Oh, okay,” Robin responded. 

“Sounds like Reznor has a crush on douchebag, though,” Tim said, picking up a piece of celery and biting into it very loudly to censor out whatever profanity Trent would spit in response to such an audacious claim. 

“You damn well know that I don’t!” Trent’s heart pounded fast against his rib cage. 

He remembered Brian pinning him down, the strength of his big hands and the sinew of his body— nope, he definitely didn’t have a crush on him. Not one bit. He was an uneducated douchebag who probably had no work ethic, based on what had been said by Stephen. 

“Alright, sure,” Robin said, and Tim smirked at him. 

“I feel ganged up on,” Trent cocked an eyebrow. 

“You are being ganged up on,” Stephen replied surreptitiously. 

“I heard that,” Trent replied snappily. 

“Just spit it out, Reznor,” Robin sighed. 

“Stop, I don’t like him! I fucking hate him,” Trent spoke genuinely. 

“It could change,” Tim pointed out, and Trent crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. 

“You guys are the fucking worst! My god!” Trent said, “I fucking despise him.” 

“Okay,” Robin said genuinely, “I believe you, then.” 

He flashed a quick look around to get their other friends to step off a bit, and silence fell over the group in a silken manner. 

They ate the rest of their lunches in silence; there was only 10 minutes left anyway and the group of men were voraciously hungry. Once they finished eating, they bussed their trays, and said their goodbyes, and then everyone made their way to other classes. Trent had one more class, then he was home free.   
—  
As Trent was taking his last class, Richard and Brian were walking through the quad, chattering. Their classes were over for the day. 

“Wait, I have the coolest place to hang out,” Richard said, walking over to the dorm building and cocking his head at Brian, “Let me show you.” 

“Alright,” Brian said, following Richard through the heavy doorway and to the elevator. 

The two of them got in and stood silently as Richard leaned forward to press the button of the top floor with a manicured finger. 

“Ah, the top floor. Fascinating, really,” Brian said sarcastically and Richard rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up, Brian, you’ll see what I mean,” Richard replied. 

The elevator mechanisms screeched, and it started its ascent. Brian tapped his fingers on the hand bar impatiently while Richard slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, tapping his foot. The two men stood impatiently, and after what felt like forever, the door opened to let them off. 

“Come on!” Richard said excitedly, grabbing Brian by the hand and pulling him down the hall to the window. 

“What the fuck, are we killing ourselves?” Brian replied confusedly.

“Shush,” Richard spat in response as if he hadn’t been just as loud, and then he stood on his toes, opening the window. 

“I’m glad I wore combat boots today,” Richard said, putting a foot on the window sill, and balancing his hand against the side of the window. 

Brian watched him stick his arm out the window, and then he swung out of view. 

“What the fuck!” Brian said, running to the window sill, sticking his head out to see Richard clinging to a metal ladder next to the window, attached to the roof at the top, but clearly sawed off after several feet. 

“Come on!” Richard yelled from outside, then began climbing the ladder. 

Brian gasped excitedly at the sight of the ladder, and then climbed up on the window sill. He jumped out and caught hold of the ladder, same as Richard, then scaled it to the roof. 

“This is so fucking cool!” Brian said, standing on the roof, looking around. 

“I told you,” Richard said, sitting cross legged on top of some kind of large, metal box nailed into the roof. 

Brian walked over to join him, sitting down next to him just as he blew out a large cloud of vapor. Richard wordlessly held up the July to Brian, who took it, inhaled a big hit, then gave it back to Richard. 

“Art history was fucking insane,” Richard said, and Brian snorted a laugh, vapor spraying out his nose. 

“You could say that,” Brian replied, and Richard nodded. 

“The teacher’s very attractive,” Richard said, “I hope he’s not mad at me. And if he is, I hope he’s into BDSM.”

“You’re so fucking gross,” Brian rolled his eyes, “Okay, you know who I thought was hot?” 

“Ooooh, who is she?” Richard asked, propping his elbows on his knees to lean forward and look at Brian. 

“Uh, he,” Brian corrected. 

“Sorry, the last one was a she. I assumed too fast,” Richard said, then added, “Who is he?” 

“The guy from art class. The one I pinned on the ground,” Brian smirked. 

“Oh, yeah, I guess he’s kind of cute, now that I think about it,” Richard shrugged, “He hates you, though.” 

“I can hate fuck him, he’s a twink,” Brian pointed out. 

“It won’t happen,” Richard shrugged his shoulders, “He seems too pushy.” 

“As if you’ve ever been pushy enough to know what it’s like,” Brian said saracastically. 

“Don’t bring up the blowjob thing, oh my god!” Richard rolled his eyes. 

“I am bringing up the blowjob thing,” Brian replied, grinning, leaning forward, “Consider it brought up.” 

“I knew he would bring it up!” Richard cried out, gesticulating to the imaginary audience around him. 

“If you don’t help me seduce that fucking twink I will tell everyone you used to suck men off anonymously in the movie theatre by my high school,” Brian grinned evilly. 

“Mein Gott! Just because I really missed my boyfriend when you met me doesn’t mean you have to tell everyone what I did!” Richard sighed, dramatically, completely neglecting to remember the fact that neither of them knew anyone yet. 

“Never mind that you tried to do it to me, too,” Brian grinned in response. 

“Nein! Shut up! I would never! Not after I got to know you!” Richard groaned, burying his face in his hands. 

“Reesh, I’m just kidding, I promise,” Brian said and Richard grunted in reply, taking his hands off his face. 

“Fine, I’ll help you,” He said, “I’ll try to hunt down one of the guy’s friends and figure out some dirt.” 

“Thank you for supporting me,” Brian said sarcastically, then added, “When he was under me, while I was pinning him, I almost got a hard on. He’s really warm.” 

“That’s gay,” Richard said, matching it with an exhalation of vapor. 

“You ARE gay,” Brian sighed, “Do I have to bring up the anonymous blowjobs for the second time in one sitting?” 

“No, I know the blowjobs are gay, but so is that!” Richard rolled his eyes. 

“You’re the worst,” Brian sighed, then laid back on the metal box, “Help me seduce him, though, for real?” 

“Of course,” Richard replied smoothly, cocking an eyebrow at Brian, then playfully speaking in the most lilting way he could, “I promise.”   
—  
Trent was fuming. Absolutely fuming. He was sitting in his favorite corner of the library, his computer open, his notes on the website he was supposed to be coding a page for next to him, and he could not concentrate to save his life. His mind kept flickering to stupid fucking Brian. He was such an asshole, his opinions were so stupid, and his attitude was intolerable. And yet, his eyes were beautiful, and his body, sinewy and heavy, had been pressed against his own. 

Trent put his face in his hands. Goddamnit, he thought, he’s sexy. There was no way in hell that Trent was going to let himself end up anywhere near fantasizing about Brian, though. There was no way— 

He wanted to pound his own head into the table. His self control was already evaporating by the second as he pictured what Brian, tall and handsome and strong, could do to him. He could push him down and choke him. Trent inhaled roughly through his nose; he would never let Brian do that, as long as he fucking lived. There was no way in hell that that was going to be an option. Thank you very much. 

And what would stupid, fucking Brian do the next day in class? What would he criticize? Would Trent be left to sit there with red rising in his cheeks, while Stephen stared at him, as he pressed his thighs together to cloak and deny how he really felt about the whole thing? 

Trent groaned softly, as if in agony, and shut his computer and put his paper back into the notebook. There was no way he could function this way. He scooped up the materials under his arm so they wouldn’t be stolen in his absence. He wove his way out from the library, his cheeks burning with embarrassment— how could he stay in denial after this? Trent opened the door to the bathroom and walked inside, into the stall at the end. He placed his books down atop the little shelf and then locked the door. He faced the toilet, eyes shut in embarrassment, and slowly placed a hand on his own thigh. This would be quick and dirty. 

Trent pictured Brian’s long fingers, strong and spindly as they were on his wrists. As he unzipped his own pants shakily, his cheeks red as rubies, he pictured the other man’s big hands doing the same task with strength and initiative. Would Brian push Trent’s pants down, or would he palm his cock first, taking his time? Trent was hard at the thought, and swallowed the nervousness in his throat. He pushed his jeans down to his thighs, briefly cupping his erection through his pants in his hand, and then in an instant, releasing it. Trent hooked his fingers under the edges of black boxers and pulled them to his mid thighs, cupping his cock in his hand, and giving a gentle stroke. 

He pictured Brian’s hand wrapping around him there, his body pinned under the larger man’s and his neck pressed to the pillow by stone-like fingers. He could almost feel black hair and pink lips teasing him by laying gentle touches on his cheeks and shoulders. Trent covered his mouth, concerned with restraining his sounds. 

He stroked his cock in his hand until his vision went white. He clenched his eyes shut, anticipating his orgasm, and putting his left hand up against the wall in front of him to avoid falling over with his weakened knees. Trent opened his eyes, stars prickling in his bleary vision. Dimly, his cheeks flushed and his pink lips hanging open, he looked down at the toilet. Cum had sprayed all over the seat, only some landing in the water. 

“Goddamnit,” Trent murmured under his breath, tucking his cock back into his pants, then pulling out a handful of tissue to wipe up his mess. 

Blushing and trying already to excuse what happened in his own mind, Trent wiped up the mess, throwing the dirty tissue in the toilet, then flushing. 

Oh well, at least he could do his fucking homework now.   
—  
The next day in Art History, Trent couldn’t concentrate. Everyone’s seats seemed to have become their designated seats, as usual in college classes. Unfortunately, this meant that Brian was sitting directly behind him. Trent had managed to tune out nearly everything the other man said, wordlessly apologizing to Lindemann with a glance when he walked into the classroom. The professor had just furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Trent with an air of suspicion, then turned away from him to position his notes on the lecturn. 

Every time Brian’s whispered comments broke the silence, Trent bristled a little. He couldn’t help wondering if, somehow, Brian knew. How would such a thing be? he would then ask himself. His brain would answer that Brian couldn’t possibly know what he’d done, and yet Trent squirmed in his seat, unable to stop the repeatedly intruding thought that the young man behind him knew he’d cum to him aggressively fast in a school bathroom. 

When the class ended, Trent put his items under his arm quickly, disorientedly leaving the classroom without taking care to noticed whether Stephen had kept up with him. To his relief, Stephen had. 

“What the hell is going on with you?” Stephen inquired, “Are you on something?” 

“No,” Trent grunted, and spoke semi-truthfully, “I don’t really know what’s happening. I’m in a weird mood.” 

“Okay,” Stephen said, opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but then clearly decided against it. 

“Sorry. I’ll be fine by lunch,” Trent replied. 

“Yeah, see you then. I hope you feel better,” Stephen replied, shooting a smile in Trent’s direction. 

Trent replied with a tight lipped grin, then he briefly glanced down the hallway, scanning his surroundings for Brian. He was relieved that the other man was not there, blocking his way down the hall with his presence. Trent swiftly walked out of the building in the direction of the other building across the quad for his next class.   
—  
Richard was going to find out all the necessary information about Brian’s new-found twink. At lunch, he told Brian that he’d be busy, so his friend wouldn’t scare said twink away. Richard knew that if he waited in the cafeteria long enough, the other man would show up, and he hoped he’d show up with friends. 

Sure enough, after looking up at the entering students, and down at his manicured nails interchangeably, Richard recognized the twink in question walking in with a friend. The two laughed and talked, standing in the lunch line. The man’s friend was dark haired and significantly taller than his counterpart. Richard couldn’t hear their conversation, but the friend said something, a statement of shock, and Brian’s prey responded with sympathy, then the tall man left the line, heading towards the door. He must have forgotten something. 

Richard took this opportunity and slipped out the door to wait outside for the other man to round the corner. 

“Hey,” Richard said to the tall man, putting a manicured hand gently on his arm to stop him, while flashing him the most charming smile he could muster, “I have a question for you.” 

“Oh, I’m not—“ the other man begun, but Richard interrupted him. 

“No, it isn’t about you. It’s about your friend,” Richard said, smirking. 

“Oh,” the taller man’s dark hair was pulled back messily, Richard noticed, and the sides were shaved, leaving sideburns at the bottom. Interesting look for a straight guy, Richard thought. 

“Yeah, my friend has a thing for him. What’s his name?” Richard asked. 

“Your... friend?” the other man’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked at Richard with a little bit of mistrust in his eyes. 

“Believe me, I’m not the one with the crush. He’s not my type. Too little,” Richard realized he was rambling and stopped talking. 

“Yeah, okay, I get you,” The other man grinned a little, “I’ll help you hook them up. His name’s Trent. He’s a computer science major. His favorite flowers are red roses because he’s basic.” 

“Thanks. I’ll tell my friend,” Richard smirked, then added, “And don’t tell Trent about this. I don’t think he likes my friend very much right now.” 

Richard winked at Robin, and walked away before the other man to ask anymore questions.   
—  
Robin was left with his mouth hanging open slightly like a tuna fish as he put two and two together. He wasn’t completely sure, so he wouldn’t say anything to Trent, who could get easily high on anxiety, as he’d learned. Robin found it hard to believe, but if he was correct...

Brian from art history had his eye on Trent.

Robin wasn’t sure how to feel about that, so he decided to go get his jacket that he’d left behind.   
—  
Everywhere he went around the school, Trent saw posters for the annual October party. For some reason, someone, at some point, had decided that Halloween parties were too basic for the students of the college and, thus, the annual October party was born. He had gotten damn near sick of everyone’s excitement about the party. Every year there was a theme, and everyone got drunk, and they listened to loud pop music. It sucked. Those things always made Trent anxious, and his friends always dragged him, convinced him to drink, then convinced him to flirt with people. Sometimes Trent was pretty successful, but he always had a hangover afterwards, so it wasn’t really worth it. 

This year, the party’s theme was punk rock, which Trent thought was an objectively good theme, but not one that anyone at his college, except maybe Brian’s German hedgehog friend and himself, could plan a party based on. He nearly laughed at the concept of the preppy leadership boys trying to make a punk playlist. At least Trent had the perfect outfit for this year’s party. It was a comfort to him to know that he would look good. He and the rest of his friends always made a pretty big deal out of dressing up for the party. 

When the day of the party came around, the same thing always happened, and it happened again this year. All of Trent’s friends showed up to he and Robin’s dorm, disorganized piles of clothes associated with their costumes in their arms. Inevitably, Robin was entirely unprepared, and because, for some reason, everyone at the school took the annual October party quite seriously, this was a big issue for Tim, Stephen and (sadly, also) Trent. 

“Robin, here, just wear this,” Tim said, pulling Trent’s fancy leather jacket out of the closet. 

“Do not fucking give him that!” Trent responded firmly, pushing his left leg into the scrunched up foot of his fishnet tights. 

“Why not?” Tim replied. 

“I ralphed on Trent’s t-shirt last year, remember?” Robin replied, “Besides, you know that won’t fit me.” 

“Maybe if you just put effort in like the rest of us...” Stephen mumbled, while he stared into the mirror at his own face as he painted white makeup onto it. 

“Stephen, what are you... you know, nevermind,” Trent sighed, pulling the tights up to his waist, as Stephen continued to blissfully apply makeup. 

“Good job, Reznor,” Stephen said jokingly. 

“Ten out of ten conflict avoidance skills,” Robin said, and Trent saw that he was shredding up a pair of his own black jeans with a pocket knife. 

“Robin, those are nice fucking jeans, what the hell?” Trent barked, leather shorts in his hand. 

“At least I’m not wearing shorts that I bought at a fetish store, because that was the only place that made men’s ones,” Robin responded evenly, and Tim snorted with laughter, quickly turning the snort into a cough as Trent looked at him angrily. 

“Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you need to call me out,” Trent joked, pulling the shorts on over the stockings. 

“That suits you,” Stephen said as Trent stepped into the view of the mirror to button the shorts. 

“Thanks, dude,” Trent replied, noticing now that Stephen was doing some pretty complex clown makeup. 

“Nobody say anything,0 Stephen said. 

“Nobody was going to,” Tim responded, “But we will now. What the fuck is that, Stephen?” 

“I just felt like I should do something really wild senior year. Going out with a bang, you know?” Stephen replied, putting the final touches on the red makeup around his eyes. 

“Okay, Pogo. You sound like a school shooter,”Trent said, pulling out a Sex Pistols shirt with cut off sleeves and a shortened bottom so he wouldn’t have to tuck it into his shorts. 

“Never call me that again.” Stephen replied as Trent pulled his shirt on, then made his way over to the mirror to apply some eyeliner of his own. 

“Pogo, or a school shooter?” Trent inquired. 

“Pogo, obviously— I don’t care about the school shooter part.” 

“We’re calling you it for the rest of the night, then, and it’ll be the rest of the year if you complain,” Robin joked, and Stephen made a noise of exasperation as he put down the brush he’d been using. 

“I’m finished with my makeup, are you finished being an idiot?” Stephen said, leaning down to the ground to pickup the floor length gold duster he’d bought to go with his outfit. 

“I’m never finished being an idiot,” Robin replied, putting on the torn black pants that he’d just finished emacerating. 

“You look like a 12 year old who just got into Fallout Boy,” Tim said, eying Robin suspiciously. 

“Okay, I know I’m not as good at this as you all. Jeez,” Robin rolled his eyes. 

“Here,” Tim beckoned Robin over, “I got you.” 

Tim was dressed as some sort of alien, his hair styled up in some Mohawk-ish manner. He was wearing a lot of red makeup around his eyes and a gold shirt that was fitted to his skin. He had jeans covered in various kinds of patches and, of course, platforms. 

Tim took out his tube of gel and put some on his hand. His brow furrowed, he styled Robin’s hair patiently until it made a spiky yet fluffy mess. He sprayed it quickly with hairspray, then patted the other man on the back hard. 

“You’re welcome, Birdie,” Tim said sarcastically, and Robin gave him a death stare. 

“Get fucked,” Robin replied. 

“Robin,” Trent said gently, standing up from his place by the mirror, “Come over here.” 

Robin came over, and Trent stood up on his toes, pushing his hand against the other man’s cheek. Getting the idea, Robin leaned down. Trent began to deftly outline Robin’s eye with the eyeliner pen. 

“Dude, thats unhygenic!” Tim yelled. 

“Shut up, it’s fine,” Trent replied, finishing the line and then moving to Robin’s other eye. 

Soon, Trent was done. He capped the pen and dropped it down on the table, firmly patting Robin’s shoulder. 

“Is everyone ready to go?” Tim asked impatiently. 

There was an affirmative chorus, and Trent walked to the door and unlocked it. 

“After you guys.”   
—  
When they arrived at the party, music was blaring loudly, and Trent was both extremely suprised and extremely relieved to hear that it was the Ramones as opposed to the bubbly pop punk bullshit he’d expected. The party was in one of the big, warehouse type buildings on campus. Trent suspected these buildings were for performance events, but he’d never actually been to anything but a party in one. 

The group got closer to the door as the ground around them pulsates from volume. Trent pushed the door open, letting his friends go through first again, wordlessly this time. He supposed this wasn’t as bad at is usually was. He looked around, and a photobooth caught his eye. Before anyone could rush off to get drinks, Trent tapped Robin’s shoulder aggressively, and pointed. Robin grabbed Stephen by the back of the jacket, and then poked Tim. He pointed out the photobooth, and the message was communicated. 

Robin lead the way, beca. He pushed open the heavy black curtain, and the four men piled inside of the small space, clothes rubbing together, and arms and shoulders awkwardly cramped against one another. They’d had a picture of their costumes every year, though, and they weren’t going to give up fulfilling their tradition for physical comfort. 

“Trent,” Tim called over the blaring sound, as Stephen fiddled with the settings for the photos, “Put your leg up in the frame so your stockings will be in the picture.” 

Trent snorted a laugh and draped his leg over Robin’s lap, seeing it come up into the frame showing on the screen in front of them. Stephen pressed the button, and a countdown showed up on the screen. 

After three photos had been snapped, the four friends climbed out of the booth, Tim groaning and complaining that his back hurt now. Stephen grabbed the strips and stuck them in Tim’s jacket pocket, because it was the deepest. 

“Let me go get drinks,” Tim offered.

“Okay, we’ll wait here,” Robin replied, as Tim disappeared off into the crowd, soon blending in with the gaudily dressed group.   
—  
After several shots from the tray Tim had brought back, Trent was plastered enough to somehow wander off into the crowd from his friends, who, in turn, were plastered enough to begin asking random girls to dance. It always got embarrassing, and so Trent had escaped before the situation descended into utter carnage. Everyone was moving and gyrating, and in Trent’s drunken state, he was having a little bit of a hard time navigating his way through. Several bodies pushed into him from all sides, and his head pounded, throbbing from the music...

He slammed straight into another person; a white shirt, a hard chest, suspenders, and... fuck. 

“Hey, Trent,” Brian grinned smirked down at the man below him. 

“What the fuck?” Trent asked, filter pretty much gone due to the amount of alcohol he’d ingested. 

“How are you doing,” Brian asked as if it was a statement, and his arms were now crossed against his chest. 

Trent couldn’t get away, even if he wanted to. He wasn’t quite sure that he did want to, though. His heart was beating abnormally fast in his chest, and Brian was staring at him, one of his eyes brown as typical, and the other with a bright blue contact. 

“I don’t even fucking talk to you— I don’t even like you. How do you know my name?” Trent spat confusedly. 

“A friend of mine asked a friend of yours,” Brian smirked at Trent, whose cheeks were now glowing a bright red. 

Trent hated how attractive Brian was. He hated it, absolutely, and he hated his incredible loss of self control, because when Brian placed a hand on Trent’s shoulder, fingers squeezing in mock affection, a wave of arousal splashed over his torso. 

“I’m Brian, in case you didn’t remember.”

Oh, Trent remembered. 

Trent’s logical side wanted to tell Brian to fuck off. Instead, he stood on his toes, knocking the other man’s hand off his shoulder, and grasping the fabric of his white t-shirt in his hand firmly. 

“Come out back with me,” Trent hissed, then turned away, walking into the crowd, desperately trying to hide his blushing cheeks, and desperately trying to stop himself from getting a hardon. 

At the back of the party, Trent pushed open the door, not bothering to see whether Brian was still behind him. He knew he would be. He walked outside, and stood under a flickering light suspended from the wall of the building. Less than a second after, Brian pushed the door again, and walked out. 

“Listen,” Trent said, pointing a finger at Brian, “I don’t fucking like you.”

“Oh?” Brian smirked, grabbing Trent’s wrist and easily pushing down the accusatory hand, holding it in his strong grasp, “You don’t?” 

Trent vibrated with anger in the other man’s grasp, his cheeks turning red again from the humiliation, “I don’t like you at all.” 

And yet, the strong fingers against his wrist, and the hand that had just make contact with the back of Trent’s neck, fingers slowly working their way up into his long, black hair made his body betray him, as blood rushed to his cock. His shorts and fishnets were getting quite tight. He shifted awkwardly. 

“Well, I think you might like me,” Brian said, looking directly at Trent’s crotch. 

“Fuck,” Trent hissed, feeling absolutely humiliated. 

Brian acted fast, shoving Trent against the wall, hard. His hands pinned the other man’s wrists, and his knee pinned Trent’s crotch painfully, pressing against his hardness. 

“Can I kiss you?” He hissed, the shadow of a smile coming onto his face with the irony of the statement. 

Trent blinked drunkenly, “Fuck.” 

“That’s not a yes,” Brian said, pushing his knee up into Trent’s crotch painfully hard, scraping his back against the wall. 

Trent groaned a little bit, then blushed more, because he was mortified by how ahead of himself he was, “Yes.” 

Brian pressed his lips to Trent’s and his whole body was finally pinned against the wall behind him. Brian’s mouth was strong, and his kiss was rough, and Trent was pretty sure the lipstick from the taller man’s costume was smearing all over his face. Brian didn’t spare a second in slipping his tongue into Trent’s mouth, and kissed his as if he were trying to devour him. The thought turned Trent on, and he couldn’t help wondering how Brian was in bed— probably rough. He liked that idea, and he liked the way Brian held him. 

Trent purred into the other man’s mouth, his body nearly shaking. Maybe it was because he was drunk, or maybe it was because Brian was ridiculously attractive, but he felt physically nearly overwhelmed. Brian broke the kiss at that moment, leaving Trent’s big, green eyes open wide, his cheeks pink, and his lips, smeared with Brian’s lipstick, hanging open in shock. 

“Nice,” Brian said, and jolt of arousal went straight through his stomach. It made him feel like a toy, the way Brian said it. 

Brian was still staring into Trent’s eyes, and vice versa, when Trent felt long, nimble fingers caressing at his cock through the leather shorts and fishnets. Trent let out a squeak, and slapped away Brian’s hand, his cheeks flushed a deep red. Wordlessly, Brian put his hand near Trent’s crotch, hovering his fingers over, smirking at Trent, as if he knew exactly how painful his erection was; cramped behind panties, fishnet, and shorts. Tight shorts. 

“Do it,” Trent sighed softly. 

Brian shifted their bodies, letting Trent about an inch down the wall to change their angle. Trent’s ass was propped against Brian’s thigh, and Brian pressed Trent against the wall with a forearm. Slowly, Brian pressed his hand down onto Trent’s bulge, grinding his palm painfully hard into his constrained cock. Trent let out a soft moan that cracked when Brian groped him roughly between his legs, grasping and stroking through layers of clothing that cut painfully into Trent’s crotch. 

“If you don’t stop doing that,” Trent whimpered, “I’ll cum.” 

“Those fishnets must hurt,” Brian murmured, grasping Trent harder, handling him ungracefully. 

“Fuck,” Trent let out as a soft gasp, as Brian’s fingers and palm found the outline of his cock perfectly, stroking alternately roughly and softly. 

“Fucking masochist,” Brian murmured. 

“Please,” Trent groaned, bucking up against Brian’s hand, completely losing himself, and refusing to deny the accusation. 

“Please, what?” Brian cooed. 

“Let me cum,” Trent whined. 

“In your pants? And you need permission?” Brian smirked at Trent, and the humiliation flipping inside the smaller man mingled immediately with his arousal. 

“Y-yes,” Trent stuttered out clumsily, knowing it would happen soon, no matter what Brian said. 

Brian seemed to sense it, and he gently kissed the shell of Trent’s ear, “You can cum, honey.” 

Trent let out a whine, and his stomach filled with sparking heat. His eyes sunk shut, and he lost it. He let loose in the shorts, not caring that he was dirtying his panties, his fishnets, and the shorts themselves; he simply needed that release. He saw Brian’s face blearily, twisted into a smirk before him, and exhaled roughly, letting out a final, soft whine as he came against the large hand on his crotch. 

“Fuck,” Trent sighed, his cock immediately having more space in his shorts, and his regret setting in. 

He could feel the sticky mess between his legs, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it. Dimly, he felt Brian sliding his phone out of his pocket. 

“What the hell?” Trent inquired.

“What’s your passcode?” Brian asked, casually not letting Trent down the wall. 

“1647. Why?” Trent replied blearily, his body spent and tired, and his brain firing seconds too late. 

“I’m giving you my phone number,” Brian said, typing it in, then smiling up at Trent to save the contact. 

“Oh!” Trent sighed, then felt embarrassed with the sense of excitement he felt. 

“We should get to know each other more,” Brian kissed Trent on the forehead in a strangely sweet manner, as he gently let him down onto shaking feet from the wall. 

“I’d like to,” Trent said, shyness arriving in his demeanor. 

Brian gave him a smile, and put his phone in his hand, “You came here with friends, right?” 

“Yeah, why?” Trent replied. 

“Because I just wanted to make sure that if you had to go home to change, you had a ride. Looks like you do.” Before Trent could reply, Brian ruffled his hair, then walked back inside, grinning. 

“Holy shit,” Trent whispered under his breath, then pulled his phone back out of his pocket, logged in, and opened messages. 

He opened his group chat with his friends, praying that only one or two people would see the text and answer him, so he wouldn’t have to explain it to everyone. 

Trent: can one of you come out the back of the party and help me out, I’m in the alley in the back, and due to a certain set of matters (nothing bad) I need to be omw home 

There was a few seconds of no action, but just as Trent was about to put his phone away, a text from Tim appeared. 

Tim: robin saw u disappear with art class boy brian. we r all coming back out right now— ready 4 dirt. 

Trent rolled his eyes, clicking his phone off. 

“Shit!” He groaned, leaning his head back against the wall.   
—  
“Richard!” Brian practically screeched, trying to be heard over the music, as he slammed into his friend with his entire body. 

“Holy shit! Calm the fuck down!” Richard replied, deftly catching Brian against him, holding the flushed man against him. 

“I made Reznor cum in his pants!” Brian yelled, cutting to the chase. 

“Wait, what? What the fuck! Are you hard!” Richard let out in quick succession, pushing Brian away and clenching his own fists, taking a deep breath. 

“Yes, I am, it’s fine, it’ll go away,” Brian groaned, “Sorry.” 

“Did you really get that far?” Richard looked at Brian in genuine awe, which was the first time Richard had been impressed by someone else’s sexual conquests. 

“Oh yeah,” Brian grinned, “And I gave him m number.” 

“Oh, wonderful,” Richard had returned from the state of shock into his regular sarcasm, “You touched his penis, but more importantly, he has your number.”

Brian rolled his eyes, looking at Richard condescendingly, “Do you ever stop?” 

“No, I really don’t.” Richard punched Brian’s arm. 

Brian purses his lips and slapped Richard’s shoulder. 

“I’m proud of you, really,” Richard offered Brian a smile. 

“Thanks, Reesh, I am too.” 

“Narcissist.” 

“God, stop!”   
—  
Trent was not given the opportunity to spare a single bit of information (except for his masochistic enjoyment of the whole affair, thank God) when he talked with his friends. They drilled him for every detail, and by the time he and Robin got back to the dorm, he was completely exhausted. He couldn’t believe that everyone would go home with him (even though it was in the early hours of the morning) just as an excuse to interrogate him about his sex life. Trent was absolutely exhausted after the conversation, and he was still drunk. 

Traveling up to he and Robin’s dorm was a dazed experience. The two men barely spoke, too drunk to do such a thing, and Trent didn’t even brush his teeth, or wash off his makeup. He just peeled off the black shorts, fishnet stockings, and panties. He ran the sink until it filled and threw all the dirty garments in there, except the shorts of course, because he didn’t want to damage the leather. Then, he pulled his shirt off, and turned on the sink again, briefly splashing water onto his hand and washing the area between his thighs messily. He grabbed a bath towel and dried off his thighs and spend cock, then wrapped the towel around his waist to spare Robin the horror. 

Trent exited the bathroom, seeing Robin already fast asleep on the other bed. He smiled at his friend’s sleeping figure to acknowledge his presence, then plopped down on his own bed, immediately falling asleep for the first time in weeks. Like always, college spent Trent, and screwed with his psyche, making his brain rattle with anxiety, which woke him up nearly once an hour, but not now. Now he was spent, tired, calm, and nearly happy. But mostly, he was fast asleep, dreaming surreal things that he wouldn’t even be able to begin to understand the next morning.   
—  
Trent woke up well into the daylight, and almost began to panic, but quickly realized that there was nothing to worry about, because it was Saturday. Sighing, he pulled the blankets more tightly around his small form, and shut his eyes again. He felt the stickiness of day-old eyeliner on his face. Sighing again, Trent pulled himself out from the nest of covers, standing up unsteadily, and cracking his back with a stretch. His towel had fallen away in his sleep, but Robin was still out cold, and, besides, his face was smeared with makeup, and his hair was a stringy mess. He figured he didn’t look very good. 

Trent felt excessively greasy and dirty, and so he walked into the bathroom. Seeing himself in the mirror proved him right; he was excessively greasy and dirty, and eyeliner was smeared across one of his sharp cheekbones. His hair was disarranged in a black crown around his head. Sighing, he figured he better remove the makeup quickly. Trent leaned down to pull a wad of toilet paper from next to the toilet, then opened the medicine cabinet to pull out the container of Vaseline. Haphazardly, he smeared the oil thickly over the area around his eyes, then swiped it away in rough streaks. It burned his skin, but the makeup was gone in a few minutes. Trent drained the water out of the sink, and left his sad, wet panties and fishnets to dry there. 

He turned on the shower, and jumped in while it was still cold to wash away all the oil and sweat. Trent let cold water course through his hair and over his skin. He smiled to himself, remembering what happened the night before. He allowed his mind to gloss over it, not wanting to think too much on the details, for fear of a budding erection, because he really needed to get himself cleaned up, and that did not include jacking off at the moment. Brian's eyes were pretty when they glittered under the yellow light casting out over him in the alleyway. He allowed himself to think of that. 

Soon he was done showering, and he got out gracefully, pulling a towel off the hook as he did. He dried his hair quickly with it, and then wrapped it around his body. Trent felt warmth and happiness budding in his stomach, which was a wholly foreign and wonderful feeling. He made sure his hands were fully dry before he exited the bathroom. He had someone special to text.  
—  
Brian's phone dinged.

"It better be Trent," he murmured, picking up the device in his hand. 

He was still cuddled up in his blankets, and he was being wholly unproductive. He picked up his phone from the bedside table and opened it. Sure enough, it was Trent. Brian couldn't recall feeling so much excitement in a long time.

Trent: hey brian, I still don’t like you, but you wanna go on a proper date?? 

Brian sighed, inhaling through his nose. 

Brian: You’re a douchebag. Are you free at 6? 

Trent: no you, and yes 

Brian: I’ll pick you up by the fountain in the quad at 6 then? 

Trent: sure brain trust— you’re planning the date

Brian sighed, rolling his eyes, and deliberately leaving that on read. He exited the texting app and opened the phone. He hardly ever called people, but this occasion required it. He dialed Richard’s number. 

“Ugh, what?” Richard said when he picked up the phone. 

“Listen, you asshole, I have a date with Trent!” Brian yelled into the phone. 

“Can you not fucking yell?” Richard groaned, “I’m hungover and my ass hurts.” 

“Stop oversharing about your ass and meet me at the coffee shop by the quad,” Brian replied, and Richard groaned. 

“Fine,” Richard said. 

“You won’t regret it. It’s important,” Brian said, and he could hear Richard grumbling under his breath in German on the other end. 

“I’m sure it’s important, and I’ll regret it, but I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Richard said, then hung up. 

Brian practically threw himself into his clothes. He wasn’t particularly hungover, probably because he hadn’t drank that much, just enough to be emboldened, and he was extremely excited. He wore a button up shirt for once, figuring that would probably impress Trent, and also figuring that he wasn’t going to change his clothes. He tucked it into a pair of light colored jeans, which he wore with his belt with the rose shaped buckle. His mom had called the belt gay when he bought it, which meant it was perfect for the occasion. 

When Brian walked outside, the weather matched his rare, happy mood. The sky was a pretty light blue, and the wind wifted lightly through his hair like gentle fingers. He made his way across the quad, appreciating the green succulents planted along the sides and looking at the beautiful, red trunked trees in the forest to the side of him. He loved the way that the college was nestled inside of the nature like this, but he wouldn’t have particularly admitted it, because it was a soppy sounding thing to say. Also, the last time he’d brought up forests to Richard, his friend had gone on a prolonged rant about how all the forests in Germany were being destroyed by capitalism. 

He crossed through the path in the woods to walk to the coffee shop, where he could see Richard through the window. For once, his friend wasn’t dressed in a flashy way; his hair wasn’t styled, and he was wearing a large maroon hoodie and jeans. He was one of the only three people actually inside, though, and the displeased look on his face could have burned through six men from miles away. He was holding an iced coffee, from which he was sulkily sipping. Brian almost laughed at the sight, but he didn’t want Richard to get upset and go back to his room like an idiot, so he walked into the coffee shop and walked over to sit with his friend. 

“Took you long enough,” Richard greeted him. 

“Don’t be a dick,” Brian said. 

“My head hurts, I’m sorry,” Richard squinted his eyes shut, and then opened them again, “What about Trent do you need to talk about that caused you to drag me out at the asscrack of dawn?” 

“Richard, it’s 10 am.” 

“W-well,” Richard sputtered, “It’s, uh, 7 pm in Germany.” 

“That’s... that’s not the morning,” Brian replied. 

“Okay, my point was bad!” Richard sighed, throwing his hands up.

“Anyway,” Brian said pointedly, “What should Trent and I do for the date?” 

“He’s leaving it up to your ass to plan it?” Richard snorted. 

“Of course, he’s clearly a bottom,” Brian replied. 

“Okay, okay, sorry I asked— I don’t know, take him to see the new Halloween movie? Or get a hotel and fuck all night long?” Richard shrugged, taking another chug of his coffee. 

“Your suggestions are so unhelpful, I don’t know why I even asked,” Brian sighed. 

“Suck on this and shut up,” Richard responded, pulling his Juul out of his pocket and passing it to Brian, “I want to drink my coffee, and then I’m sure I’ll be more helpful.” 

Brian put the Juul in his mouth, sucking a hit from it, and then blowing out intentionally in Richard’s eye. Richard looked like he was going to fight, and then the two of them both started to snort with laughter. The barista shot Brian a dirty look, and he quickly shoved Richard’s Juul back into his hands. Richard flashed Brian a smirk, and put the vape back into his pocket, but the slightly happier expression combined with the lack of bitchy comment seemed to prove that Richard’s coffee was working. 

“The best date I was ever taken on was when I was back in Germany, you know, with him, my boyfriend, well— ex— anyway,” Richard said, getting the misty look of remembrance in his eyes that he got when he talked about his ex, “We drove in his truck into the forest and then we ate peanut butter sandwiches in the back of the truck, then we swam in the lake, and fucked, and slept in the back of car.” 

“I don’t think I can do that with Trent, yet. He’s still convinced he hates me,” Brian pointed out. 

“Okay, I was just pointing out that the forest, when it’s not being destroyed by capitalism, is a really magical place to go, and water is nice,” Richard shrugged, “Sorry, all the other dates I’ve been on are just dinner-movie-fuck dates. Not very magical. American men have less charm.” 

Brian bit back a joke about how Richard was one to talk, because he had no charm, but he knew the other man got really sensitive after talking about his ex, so he didn’t take it there. 

“I’ll try and think about it, thanks for the suggestions. I hope I’ll think of something fun and memorable for us to do,” Brian said, and bit his lip, thinking. 

“You really like him, don’t you?” Richard asked. 

“Yeah,” Brian sighed, “I do.” 

“Don’t you dare break that pretentious twink’s heart,” Richard said, pushing his finger into Brian’s chest, “Don’t you dare.”   
—  
By the time it was 5:30, Trent had already been in his room, unable to concentrate on any of his school work for hours. He had considered jacking off, but the concept of doing that right before a date made him feel unbelievably guilty, so he withheld the urge. Robin had been in and out of the room, and right now he was there, trying to get Trent to relax. 

“Trent, he likes you, you can stop worrying,” Robin said, and Trent shook his head. 

“I know that, but what do I wear? Does he expect me to look how I do in class, or does he expect me to look how I did at the party?” Trent was aggressively chewing at the inside of his mouth. 

“Trent, don’t worry so much. Who gives a shit what he ‘expects’, just look like you,” Robin said, then realized he was probably going to help his usually immaculately dressed friend choose his outfit, due to Trent’s anxiety. 

Trent made an incoherent stressed moaning sound, falling back onto the bed and putting his hands over his face. 

“Hey, Trent, how about this shirt?” Robin said, taking out a nice blue button up with a flowered pattern on the collar, which was one of the nicest things that Trent owned. 

“Yeah, I like that shirt,” Trent said, feebly, his voice still ridden with clear anxiety, but sounding considerably less stressed out than before. 

“And these pants?” Robin asked, pulling out a pair of black jeans, “Or these?” He pulled out Trent’s reddish corduroys which were the same color as the flowers on the shirt. 

“The red ones,” Trent said, then added snarkily, “If you dressed as well as you’re helping me dress right now, I wouldn’t bully you anymore.” 

“Shut the fuck up, I’m only helping you because I know you have anxiety about this and I don’t want you to have a panic attack,” Robin restrained laughter, “I can just leave you to die.” 

“Okay, okay I’m sorry!” Trent sighed, “I’ll stop bullying you.” 

“Good,” said Robin, and Trent stood from his dramatic lying down position on the bed to pull on the outfit Robin had helped him choose. 

Trent looked at himself in the mirror after he’d dressed. He cocked his head, watching his fluffy locks puff over on one side. He smiled at himself, as if he was smiling at Brian, and he decided he looked pretty good. He walked out of the bathroom and picked up his keys, phone, and wallet and shoved them into his pockets. He sat down to pull on his boots, then stood once they were fully laced.

“See,” Robin said, “You look good, and you look like you, and it doesn’t matter anyway, because he’ll be trying to pull your clothes off before he can get to judging them.” 

“You’re the best,” Trent responded, pulling Robin into a tight, one armed hug. 

“Good luck, dude,” Robin smiled at Trent in reply, slapping his arm.   
—  
Brian was sitting at the fountain when Trent got there. Trent eyed him from the distance, trying to prepare himself to behave with the aloof, hateful mannerism he’d been acting for the past weeks, but the second Brian saw him, and smiled, those warm brown eyes melted Trent into an anxious mess again. 

“Trent!” Brian called, sounding oddly excited for someone who’d been told by his date that he didn’t like him. 

Trent walked over with a big smile on his face that he was unable to repress. Brian pulled Trent into a big, unexpected hug, then whispered into Trent’s ear before he could escape Brian’s grasp. 

“I know you don’t actually hate me, so you can cut out the act.” 

Brian released Trent, who was blushing, looking up at the other man, “Of course I don’t hate you, really.” 

“That’s a development,” Brian grinned at Trent, “Hey, I like your shirt a lot.” 

Trent’s heart swelled, and he couldn’t remember himself feeling so happy in a long time. 

“Thanks, I like yours too actually,” Trent replied, wanting to say so much more to Brian. 

He wanted to joke about his stupid straight best friend helping him choose his clothes for once; he wanted to tell Brian he had beautiful eyes; he wanted to pull Brian close and kiss him passionately like a lover, but it wasn’t the time for any of those things yet. Hopefully, that time would come. 

“Do you want to go see the new Halloween movie?” Brian burst out awkwardly, and Trent smiled at him. 

“Sure,” Trent smiled, “I’d love to.” 

Both men were much less awkward when they were drunk, as Trent was noticing, and Brian was too. Trent felt like he shouldn’t be so anxious around a freshman, but this freshman was opinionated and attractive, and that was a little difficult for Trent to process. He felt intimidated, in a good way, by Brian, and he hadn’t forgetter how easily Brian had commanded his body the night before. As they walked to Brian’s car, they bumped shoulders a few times. (Really, Trent bumped his shoulder into Brian’s arm due to their heights.) 

Trent was about to awkwardly blubber a query as to whether he could hold Brian’s hand, but before he could, Brian took Trent’s much smaller hand in his, interlacing their fingers. Trent looked down at Brian’s big hand nearly curling around his, protecting it like a shell. He looked up shyly at Brian himself, who was staring forward in the direction of the car with a victorious smirk threatening to spread across his face from the upturned corners of his lips. He was infuriatingly attractive, Trent thought. 

They reached the parking lot through the trees. 

“That’s my car,” Brian said, pointing to a black vehicle with somewhat chipped paint, then added, “Sorry it’s kind of shabby, that’s my friend Richard’s fault; we share it mostly, and he keeps insisting it’ll be in charge of him to get it repainted, but then he never does it.” 

“Why do I get the feeling this has been going on for years?” Trent inquired. 

“It literally has been going on for a year,” Brian laughed, “Somehow Reesh and I appropriate a lot of each other’s stuff; we’ve been friends since he came here from Germany a few years ago.” 

“Oh, he’s the hedgehog from art history!” Trent burst out, then blushed deeply, realizing he shouldn’t have voiced his realization that the German hedgehog had an actual name and identity. 

“Hedgehog?” Brian snorted, “Yeah, he’s kind of a hedgehog.” 

“It’s the hair,” Trent said, laughing, his anxiety dissipating a little because of Brian’s naturalness towards his joke. 

“His personality is kind of hedgehog-y as well,” Brian said, letting go of Trent’s hand to let him into the passenger seat of the car. 

He shut the car door on Trent’s side, and walked around the driver’s seat to get in. Brian twisted the keys in the ignition and backed the car out of his spot, then deftly exited the lot. Trent was appreciative of people who were good drivers; his last girlfriend had been a really fantastic driver, also, so it was basically a part of his type at this point. Brian navigated his way up onto the road, and then soon turned onto the highway. 

“So,” Brian asked, “What music do you like?” 

“Uh, mostly new wave and punk,” Trent said. 

“Oh, really?” Brian said, excited smile lighting up his face, “Me too! Wait.” 

Brian switched lanes, then leaned over and opened the glove compartment in front of Trent, “Ignore Reesh’s Juul pods, but do you like any of the discs in here?” 

Trent stared at the disks in delight, then picked up Richard’s Juul pods gingerly, placing them on top of the dashboard, and pushed the discs out onto his lap. 

“Oh, I love the Cure,” Trent said, picking up Disintegration in his hand, then shuffled some more through the discs, seeing several albums he liked and that he’d expect any new wave fan to own, when suddenly he came across something that made him consider proposing to Brian in the moment. 

“You like Soft Cell?” Trent inquired, picking up This Last Night In Sodom in his hand. 

“I fucking love Soft Cell!” Brian said excitedly, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to look at Trent, just catching the glitter of genuine excitement in the other man’s eyes. 

“God, I was starting to think I’d never meet someone else who liked them as much as I did,” Trent said excitedly, “They basically invented industrial— and Marc is such a lyrical genius— well, sorry, I don’t mean to get ridiculously excited about it.” 

“You’re not; I think it’s cute, and besides, I love them so much. I have all their albums,” Brian said, “But I only have This Last Night in Sodom and Nonstop Erotic Cabaret on CDs; the rest are records or tapes.” 

“I have all their albums digitally, and cassettes of Nonstop Erotic Cabaret and Cruelty Without Beauty,” Trent couldn’t stop smiling. 

“We should put one of the albums on,” Brian said, and then added, “I can’t do it while I’m driving, though, can you see where to put it in?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Trent replied, picking up This Last Night in Sodom and opening the CD, “I think we should listen to this one, since it’s the only album of theirs that wasn’t utterly forced into heterosexuality.” 

Brian laughed at that, and Trent put the album in. The car made a series of clicking noises, and then the sound of the first song came on. Trent turned it up, blasting Mr. Self Destruct as loudly as seemed tolerable while one drove. 

“This song’s basically you,” Brian said, laughing. 

“‘You should have seen you when you were eighteen, you were the toughest little fuck I’d ever seen?’” Trent quoted, then let out a snort of laughter. 

“Oh, shut up, it’s pretty much a portrait of a really tough and yet, pretty soft guy,” Brian shrugged and Trent felt blush rising in his cheeks as Slave to This came on. 

“This one sounds really cool on the record,” Brian began. 

Suddenly, the car let out an odd, loud sound, as if it was blowing out smoke. 

“Oh, fuck, I hate when this happens,” Brian sighed, pulling the car quickly to the side of the road, as it let out a series of confused clicks, and skidded to a stop. 

“What happened?” Trent asked worriedly. 

“It fucking does this all the time!” Brian snapped over the music, slamming his hand down on the dashboard.

“Do we have to call Triple A or something?” Trent replied. 

“No, if I take the keys out, it’ll randomly be fine in, like, twenty minutes. It did this a ridiculous amount of times when Reesh and I were driving up to school for the first time, but it hasn’t done it in months,” Brian sighed, twisting the keys and pulling them out, “Sorry to shut off the music.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Trent said, able to tell Brian was getting genuinely upset. 

“Sorry, I just feel like my stupid car is fucking up our date,” Brian sighed. 

“I’m not trying to go out with it; I want to spend time with you,” Trent spoke honestly. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Brian said softly, clearly having to muster up courage to say that, especially in true silence as they were pulled over at the side of the road.

Trent felt a rush of warmth run through his torso, and he cupped Brian’s cheek in a shaking hand, “I feel the same about you.” 

Brian leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Trent’s mouth, and then Trent inhaled sharply, put his hands on Brian’s shoulders. Brian roughly grabbed Trent’s shirt, pulling his smaller body nearly out of the seat and closer to the divider between the two seats. He pushed his tongue into Trent’s mouth, and Trent ate up his smell and taste; Brian tasted good, and smelled like manly cologne. He liked the way Brian was so much. 

“Can I-“ Trent gasped against the wet kisses that Brian was now laying against his lips, “Can I suck your cock?” 

“That was forward,” Brian laughed, cupping the back of Trent’s neck gently, planting a kiss on his cheek, “Sure you can, honey.” 

The deep Florida accent that came out specifically on that word sent tingling arousal from Trent’s neck to his stomach. He felt it pool in his stomach, then go directly to his cock. Brian emboldened him; he was so fucking attractive, Trent couldn’t resist. Maybe he was acting like a whore, but who wouldn’t with Brian? Trent clambered over the divider between the seats, climbing down in front of the steering wheel, and slotting himself uncomfortably between Brian’s long legs. 

“Hey, can you move the chair back?” Trent asked shyly, and Brian smiled. 

“Sure, sorry,” Brian responded and leaned down to use the lever to crank the seat back a little under the foot. 

Trent breathed out, and readjusted his position on his knees by spreading them apart and getting a little more comfortable. He unzipped Brian’s jeans, trying not to breathe too heavily; he didn’t want to strike Brian as as needy and desperate as he actually was, yet. He pulled Brian’s jeans down his thighs, rubbing his palm slowly against his cock through his boxers. Trent could feel it hardening against his hand, and let out a soft sound of satisfaction. He pulled Brian’s boxers down his thighs, too, and moaned out softly when he saw his cock. 

“You have such nice hands, honey,” Brian said, as Trent wrapped his hand against Brian’s hard cock. 

“T-thanks,” Trent stuttered out, feeling his brain going into its typical subby state as he, himself, got harder in his pants, looking at Brian’s cock in his hand. 

Brian was a tall, lanky young man, and his cock was just as significant as Trent had imagined. The idea of something so big stretching him open made Trent nearly drool on Brian’s cock right there. He did the second best thing, and slipped his lips over the head, smelling the hot musk that could only be found on a man. He flicked his tongue over the slit, and moved his hand off Brian’s cock onto his thigh as Brian embroidered his fingers into Trent’s hair, the strength of his arm pressing Trent’s mouth down onto his cock until Trent’s nose pressed into Brian’s dark, trimmed pubes. 

Trent hummed blissfully, his eyes falling nearly shut. He restrained his gag reflex easily, and he refused to move alone, instead forcing Brian to pull his head up by the hair, then pushing his mouth back down on him. Trent made soft noises of ascent, as spit dripped out of his swollen pink lips and down his chin. Brian moaned deeply in his throat, and Trent was painfully hard, nearly choking on Brian. He loved being used like a toy by Brian; in his aroused state he thought to himself that he’d let Brian use him however he wanted, whenever he wanted. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Brian said, and Trent made a humming sound against Brian’s cock, flicking his tongue out softly against the head. 

“You’re such a good boy,” Brian murmured, before moaning out chokedly, and thrusting up erratically into Trent’s warm, welcoming mouth. 

He cried out one last time, and Trent braced himself, stiffening his back. Brian shot his load down Trent’s throat with a loud, expressive sigh. Trent pulled back, about to swallow it, when Brian held up his finger to signify to Trent to wait. 

“Show me,” Brian said, in a dirty impulse, and the statement shot directly to Trent’s cock. 

Trent opened his mouth, and the debauched sight of Trent before him, chin slicked with spit, and mouth full of his seed, made Brian nearly get turned on all over again. 

“Good boy,” Brian said, stroking Trent’s hair, then adding in a stroke of dominance, “You can swallow now.” 

To Brian’s surprised, Trent obeyed exactly when he requested, swallowing, then reaching up to wipe the mess of spit off of his chin with the heel of his hand. 

“Fuck,” he said softly under his breath. 

“Wow, yeah,” Brian said, slowly lifting himself up to tuck his cock back into his boxers, and then zip up his jeans, “You’re good... wow.” 

Trent beamed up at Brian, and then shyness nearly overtook him completely again. He mustered up the courage to get out of his kneeling position and straddle Brian’s lap. He pushed his body flush with the other man’s and buried his flaming, blushing face in the taller man’s neck. Brian laughed, and his hair tickled Trent’s cheek. 

“You’re so cute,” Brian said, then added sort of apprehensively, “can I ask you something?” 

Trent’s body tensed a little in Brian’s arms, and Brian patted his back awkwardly to relax him a little. 

“Sure,” Trent said softly. 

“Are you, um, this is going to sound so weird if I’m wrong, so don’t take it, like, too seriously if you’re not, but—“ Brian began, but Trent cut him off. 

“Yes, Brian, I’m into BDSM,” Trent mumbled into Brian’s neck, and Brian snorted at the annoyed tone. 

“Thanks, what if that wasn’t what I was gonna say?” Brian said jokingly, then quickly added, “Don’t worry, it was.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Hilarious, Warner,” Trent said bitingly, but there was nothing threatening or serious about it, considering that Trent was also quite literally melting all over Brian, and cuddling against him like his life depended on it. 

“I can do that with you, sometime,” Brian said, stroking Trent’s hair. 

“Sounds good,” Trent purred, sloppily kissing Brian’s neck. 

The thrilling feeling of this beautiful creature belonging to Brian, and Brian only was something that the taller man couldn’t help but be aroused by. 

“I should get you a collar,” Brian said thoughtfully, “And pull on it when I fuck you.” 

“Don’t rile me up like that,” Trent sighed, “I’m already hard as fuck, and that’s not making it go away.”

“Let me take care of it, then,” Brian said, and Trent pulled his face out of its spot in Brian’s neck with a grin. 

“Go for it,” Trent said, “Just don’t make us late for the movie.” 

It didn’t take Trent long to cum; they definitely weren’t late for the movie.   
—  
A few days passed, and to Stephen’s slight dismay, Brian and Richard had moved down from their designated seats to his and Trent’s row in art history. The four sat together, and somehow, Brian joined them at lunch, too. Then Richard started showing up too, and, despite his habitual vaping, he also fit into the group easily. Trent was relieved to see that his friends actually liked Brian. They liked Richard too, which was even more surprising. It was the ultimate compliment when Tim added the two to their squad group chat. 

Trent and Brian had gone on a few more movie dates, and they had also spent some time sitting on the roof together, staring at the stars. They’d gone to the record store, and even the theatre. They’d saved up for that one, but it was worth it. Somehow, so much had changed in two months. Two months of going out, and Trent’s heart had never felt lighter. There had been many hasty handjobs and blowjobs, and a couple of spanking sessions, but the two hadn’t actually fucked yet. 

“Hey, Reznor,” Brian tapped Trent’s shoulder in the hallway, “You doing anything tomorrow?” 

Tomorrow was Saturday. Brian really hoped Trent was free, because he had a plan forming in his mind. 

“No, I’m not doing anything— hey, wait, where the fuck are you going?” Trent called out. 

Brian flashed him a smirk, hurtling down the hallway, in the opposite direction. He’d already told Robin to get out of Trent’s dorm before 8 am if he knew what was good for him. Robin had known exactly what Brian had meant and swore up and down to vacate the dorm, because he valued his virgin eyes. Brian’s plan was fully in place, and he hoped Trent was expecting and anticipating, because that made life much more fun.   
—  
At 9am on Sunday, Brian rapped against the door of Trent’s dorm. He already had obtained a key from Robin, who had pointed out that it was a necessary backup to have, given Trent’s fantastic ability to perpetually fail to wake up. Brian rapped against the door harder, which drew a groan out of Trent’s voice, and then Brian heard the promising sound of feet padding across carpeted floor. He smiled excitedly, practically bouncing at the concept of seeing Trent’s beautiful face. 

I think I’m in love, Brian realized, and the realization was confirmed when Trent opened the door, swiping dark messy hair out of his face to train his green eyes on Brian’s face. 

“Oh, it’s you!” Trent’s tired chagrin quickly turned to excitement, and he wrapped his arms around Brian in a quick hug, then moved aside to let the other man in. 

Brian felt like his heart was filling with hot liquor as Trent shut the door behind him. He wondered about the distant world where Brian Warner despised Trent Reznor— how could he have ever even felt that way? 

“You’re here early,” Trent said, turning to Robin’s bed, “and Robin isn’t here at all. What’s your plan— fess up, Warner.” 

Brian laughed at Trent’s matter-of-fact manner, and decided to respond equally truthfully, “I wanna fuck you, finally.” 

“Oh, jeez, and Robin knows— he’s going to ask about it right after,” Trent murmured, almost as if it were an afterthought of an imagined original statement, then looked up, “I don’t care. I want you.” 

“That’s good,” Brian said, cracking a smile at Trent; he was unsure of what else to say. 

“Listen, I’m super greasy, and nobody would want to fuck someone like that,” Trent said, shyly, “I really want to shower.” 

“Go for it,” Brian smiled at Trent, who smiled back, the area around his green eyes crinkling in a delightful manner, and then Trent turned on his heel to walk into the bathroom. 

Brian sat still on Trent’s bed for a moment, hearing the sounds of Trent shedding his clothes, and then the sound of Trent turning the shower on. He was absolutely spellbound, and he was still lost in Trent’s smiling eyes. A brief fantasy splashed into his psyche; Trent in 20 years, still with his smaller hand in Brian’s, still with the same sparkling green eyes, this time surrounded by crows’ feet. Brian smiled to himself at the hope. 

He was roused from the fantasy by the sound of Trent calling his name from the bathroom. Brian stood from the bed and opened the door, entering the bathroom to see Trent smirking devilishly, standing outside of the shower already, his sinuous body on display for Brian. He looked like Donatello’s David statue; his hips cocked to one side, though the slick wetness of his dark hair and the drops of water adorning his lithe body where the towel had failed to dry made up for the missing sensuality of the feather that caressed David’s thigh. 

“I fucking need you,” Brian said harshly, and Trent’s smile melted into something shy and warm. 

“Tell me what to do; I’ll do it,” Trent said, and Brian saw Trent’s hands clenching at his sides, as if to hold off arousal. 

“Go lie down on your back on the bed,” Brian said, hearing his own voice become gruff, “with your legs spread for me.” 

Trent nodded at Brian, cocking his head at the taller man to let him go through the door first. 

“No, you go first,” Brian grinned at Trent, “I want the view.” 

A slight smile traced itself on Trent’s blushing face, and he walked in front of Brian. The slap that Brian delivered to his naked ass almost immediately after Trent moved in front of him shocked a squeak out of Trent. Brian grinned; he loved the sounds he made. When Trent reached the bed, he lay back on it, putting his hands behind his head. He looked up at Brian expectantly as he spread his legs, revealing his dark, curly bush and his now-hard cock nested between his thighs. Brian grinned, looking Trent up and down. He hadn’t wanted someone this badly in his entire life. 

“I got you something, honey,” Brian said, and Trent looked up at him, breathing in shortened breaths of excitement. 

Brian removed his heavy, leather jacket with large pockets. He laid it on Robin’s bed and pulled a box outside of the inside pocket. 

“What is it?” Trent asked in anticipation, keeping his position on the bed the whole time. 

The unquestioning obedience was definitely something Brian noticed, and it made him want to speed up his preparations so he could see how Trent carried that puppy-like obedience through their whole... encounter. 

“It’s this,” Brian grinned at Trent, pulling a stiff leather o-ring collar from the box, casting the container onto Robin’s bed. 

“Oh,” Trent gasped out softly, as Brian climbed onto the bed to straddle him, his boots still on and digging into the mattress on the sides of Trent. 

“Lift your head up,” Brian said sternly, and Trent did as he said. 

Brian slipped the collar over Trent’s head, then tightened it around his neck. He slipped the strap through the holding piece of leather, then smooched Trent on the nose, “Now you can really be a good boy.” 

Trent whined at the statement, all semblance of self control and authoritativeness from earlier outside the shower gone. Brian hooked two fingers under the collar and pulled Trent’s pretty face up close to his to press a firm, warm kiss against Trent’s lips. He then climbed off the bed and undressed the fastest he ever had in his life, throwing his shirt aside, kicking off his boots, and dropping his pants and boxers to the ground. Brian knew his undressing wasn’t particularly sexy, but he could practically eat Trent up; Trent, who stared at him with large eyes full of lust and submission as Brian’s naked body was revealed before him. 

Brian climbed onto the bed again, and positioned himself between Trent’s spread legs. He had expected the whole affair to be planned, practiced sado-masochism like he was used to, and yet, Trent made him an animal. He wanted to fuck him like one. 

“Trent,” Brian swallowed gruffly, taking Trent’s cock in hand, stroking at it roughly, “Do you want me?” 

“Fuck, yes, of course I do,” came Trent’s enthused reply. 

“Beg for me,” Brian murmured, reaching above Trent to pull lube from the drawer of Trent’s beside table. 

Brian slicked his fingers with lube, and Trent answered Brian’s demand, “I want you to fuck me— fuck me like I’m your toy— fuck!” 

Trent was cut off by Brian’s long fingers rubbing at his entrance, up and down, yet not sliding in yet. The tips of his fingers were cold with lube, and Trent could feel his cock leak, his body threatening to burst. 

“Continue,” Brian ordered, and Trent let out a choked noise as Brian slid a finger into his entrance. 

“Fuck, I want you to stretch me out with that cock of yours— I want you to make me your toy,” Trent groaned out in messy succession, and Brian slipped another finger inside of him. 

“I can do that,” Brian smirked at Trent, whose blush-pink skin contrasted with his collar. 

“I need more,” Trent groaned, forcing himself down on Brian’s nimble fingers. 

“You always get so excited when you get my cock in your mouth,” Brian mused, ignoring Trent’s desperation, “bit of a size queen, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Trent groaned, “I am; just fuck me—“ 

Brian leaned up over Trent, stretching his own body out, and covered Trent’s mouth in a harsh grasp with the hand not already inside of him. 

“You’re such a fucking whore,” Brian spat, and Trent moaned against his hand, still desperately trying to push down on the fingers inside of him. 

Brian pulled his fingers out of Trent entirely, and Trent made a sound of dismay in response. Slowly, Brian lifted his hand from Trent’s mouth. 

“Get on your front,” Brian hissed, and Trent could feel the threatening tone send a shiver down his spine, straight to his cock, “and put that lovely ass up for me.” 

Trent listened to Brian’s command, clambering onto his stomach, sticking his ass out, positioning his arms apart from each other to hold his position steadily. He shivered as he felt Brian’s touch at the inside of his thighs.

“Spread your legs more; I want to see your cock,” Brian said, and Trent obeyed, spreading his legs, “Look at you. Leaking all over the sheets.” 

Brian slapped Trent’s ass roughly, and then grasped the flesh in his hand, spreading his cheeks uncomfortably apart to see how he’d stretched Trent’s red entrance with his fingers already. 

“You already look just as hungry for my cock as you are,” Brian murmured, drawing a soft moan out of Trent in reply.

“Fuck me,” Trent replied, adding softly, “Please.” 

“Your body’s practically screaming for me already,” Brian replied.

He ran a nail over Trent’s reddened entrance, and then let his hand travel down to cup Trent’s heavy balls in his hand, delivering a gentle squeeze. Brian flicked the tip of Trent’s leaking cock, enjoying the way Trent breathed heavily while his thighs shook, threatening to collapse underneath him.

“Fuck, please, please fuck me,” Trent begged, his body alive with energy, “I’ll scream for you too, if you do.” 

“I want to hear that,” Brian groaned, hardly able to hold off himself any longer, pressing the head of his stiff cock against Trent’s lube-slicked entrance. 

“Oh, fuck,” Trent groaned, inhaling a sharp breath through his nose as Brian pushed inside of him, stretching him out and filling him up just how he’d desired for months. 

“That’s right,” Brian practically purred at the tightness around him, pushing inside further and digging his hands into the mattress temporarily to hold himself up, “You’re such a perfect toy.” 

“Wanna be good for you,” Trent responded desperately though a moan. 

“You’re so good for me,” Brian hummed deeply in reply, grabbing the back of Trent’s collar and hauling him up so his back pressed against Brian’s front. 

Trent sputtered against the collar digging into his neck, his body completely in Brian’s control now, as Brian held him by the collar and fucked into him, faster and harder. Brian felt his orgasm building up; and he was already anticipating the sight of his cum dripping out of Trent. He was so glad they hadn’t used a condom. 

“Gonna cum, baby, be a good boy and hold still for me,” Brian murmured, and Trent let out a little whining sound in reply. 

Trent’s cock was throbbing, but he knew Brian wouldn’t be happy if he came before him, so he held it— and then Brian thrusted hard one last time, letting out a grunting noise as the warm liquor feeling Brian had felt earlier in his heart pooled with doubled intensity in his stomach, and then he blew his load deep inside Trent. He sighed softly, using the last of his strength before he nearly collapsed to lay Trent down on his back on the bed, as if he were a little toy. 

Trent whimpered, his legs spread obediently and his cock still hard between them as Brian’s cum dripped out of him. Brian crawled closer to him on the bed, wordlessly figuring that Trent deserved his pleasure, too. He grasped Trent by the hips, roughly hauling his light body up the bed and spreading his cheeks with his strong fingers. Brian hummed in satisfaction at the sight of Trent’s stretching, dripping entrance, as Trent’s cock flipped up onto his stomach due to the angle. 

Brian slid his warm tongue against Trent’s entrance, licking up the dripping mess. 

“You’re such a mess,” Brian cooed, and Trent whined in reply. 

Brian licked Trent again, then wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking him slowly and steadily, and drawing out soft, desperate moaning sounds. He then slipped his tongue inside of Trent, feeling his cock twitch in his hand. He stroked Trent harder, and faster, just to hear more of the lovely sounds Trent made. Sure enough, Trent was responsive, and his moans crescendoed louder and higher. 

“Brian, Brian, please!” Trent sighed out. 

“Please, what?” Brian asked, pausing his stroking, and Trent let out a choked gasp. 

“Let me cum, please—“ Trent whined, and Brian shushed him. 

“You’ve been a good boy; of course,” Brain said, and resumed him stroking, fast like before. 

Trent let out one more prolonged moan, and then he let loose— blowing his load in splatters across his own stomach, the force of it shooting up his chest. Brian pumped Trent’s softening cock until the last bits of his cum dripped out onto his quivering stomach. He stared down at the constellation of cum sprayed on Trent’s body, slightly surprised that such a small body could produce so much. 

“Wow,” Brian whispered tiredly. 

“I think,” Trent said softly, “that I’m in love with you.” 

Brian’s heart soared, but instead he replied with a snarky, “You’re just saying that because I fucked you so well.” 

“Sure, you fucked me within an inch of my life, but you’re also handsome and smart. I love you, okay?” Trent said whinily, and then reaffirmed in his normal tone, “I fucking love you.” 

Brian felt that warm feeling in his heart again as he looked down at Trent’s beautiful body extended in front of him, all his. He remembered his earlier fantasy of Trent in the future, still his. 

“I love you too. So much.”

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to all my enablers: ray, marina, esteban, erik, and indigo. they all convinced me that this wasn’t too long, even though I thought it was. marina told me “it be like that sometimes” and “that’s the best advice I can give you” and indigo told me “it’s fine if it’s long as long as the sex at the end is actually kinky” 
> 
> thanks to my mom for editing an actual short story I wrote and helping me finally understand how to correctly punctuate dialogue, and thanks to poppy z brite for giving me a great reference in lost souls for how to punctuate dialogue in text. and thanks to maddi for recommending that book to me, it’s disgusting and I love it. 
> 
> leave a comment if ur brave


End file.
